


Crystal Scarlet

by berryboys



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Auror Partners, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-10-04 01:16:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 45,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20462636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berryboys/pseuds/berryboys
Summary: Three years of Auror training for this, Mark bitterly realizes. Three years of sweat, of long nights without a single second of sleep, of putting his life on the line, of emotional and physical pain, culminating in Donghyuck. Because one can never escape from a Slytherin, not if they don’t want you to escape, and Donghyuck has always enjoyed wrapping his fingers around the little freedom of Mark’s life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hiii  
welcome to berry writes markhyuck for the first time and fears the result.  
first of all, to the prompter that commissioned it, patty thank you so much and i hope you enjoy it and is what you expected!  
some notes:  
-it's mentioned a few times in the fic, but to avoid confusion, the is set a few years post-war. donghyuck enters hogwarts during HP and the deathly hallows, and mark enters during HP and the half-blood prince.  
-mark has a couple brief moments of what could be considered ptsd but it isn't explicitly stated, still TW just in case  
-this is going to be divided in 3 chapters and a epilogue!  
-[Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4ICnLd0GRemxBCRoY8ck5o?si=_-zNVwuWQW2ZCZxb0KaSFg)  


“You know what they say,” Donghyuck tells Mark, his lips expanding into a feline grin. “You can never escape from a Slytherin.”

However, Mark believed he could.

When Mark first steps into the Pairing Event, Donghyuck smiles at him across the room, the corners of his lips stretching into a gesture that Mark is terribly familiar with. Despite the years that have gone by, Donghyuck’s smirk remains untouched: wicked, unapologetic, pretentious.

Three years of Auror training for this, Mark bitterly realizes. Three years of sweat, of long nights without a single second of sleep, of putting his life on the line, of emotional and physical pain, culminating in Donghyuck. Because one can never escape from a Slytherin, not if they don’t want you to escape, and Donghyuck has always enjoyed wrapping his fingers around the little freedom of Mark’s life.

Mark wishes this was a dream, a nightmare. The last time he saw Donghyuck, Donghyuck had raised his wand at him with the threat of a fight. It had been just that: a threat. And Mark had wished from the bottom of his heart that, after seven years of a burning, dangerous relationship, Donghyuck had finally dared to show his real face to the rest of the world. Standing on Hogwarts grounds, Donghyuck hadn’t gone further. As graduated wizards, attacking Mark would have tainted his record, and a tainted record was the biggest impediment to be an Auror. Mark should have pushed his buttons. He should have mentioned Donghyuck’s brother, perhaps, to fracture him into the monster Mark knew he could become.

If Mark had been cruel enough, Donghyuck wouldn’t be here today.

Three years of Auror training to be paired up with Donghyuck, standing tall and mature in his wine red tunic, the amulet of his family hanging off his neck, stark green against his clothes. And, three years later, Donghyuck still gathers all the attention around him, even when he’s not displaying his Veela charms. Mark isn’t an exception. He’s drawn to Donghyuck like he’s a fire in the middle of a forest, bright and destructive, and when the Instructor calls his name, Donghyuck lifts his eyebrows at him, challenging Mark to run away. And god, if Mark wouldn’t give up his whole life just to fly away from him.

Mark knows what’s about to happen. Donghyuck and he are two planets in orbit, always in the same trajectory, but never touching each other. Both competing for the best grades at school, aware that they were going to take the same career path; both on opposite sides of a coin, dark and white, white and dark, meshing up to become the perfect gray of an Auror pair.

_You can never escape from a Slytherin_. Mark will never be able to escape from Donghyuck, not even if Donghyuck himself allows him to.

“Veela,” Mark greets him, a word that shoots him back to the past. It still tastes bitter on his tongue, full of hatred and rancor and all the memories that spin in his head.

Donghyuck tilts his head to the side, blond hair flicking over his eyes. And though the spark of the boy he used to be remains alive, his eyes transmit a sentiment much more profound, much more poisonous.

“Lee,” he spits back at Mark with the same intent, the same bitterness.

_He’s so beautiful_, Mark thinks. So, so pretty. But there are sins that can’t be forgiven.

Mark’s life doesn’t get tangled into Donghyuck’s life right away.

Waiting is a ticking bomb for him. Mark leaps into the past and faces his own ghosts, his own wrongdoings and the rancor that sits between them, and though Mark would love to revel in his last moments before becoming an Auror, anxiety prickles on his skin with the perspective of his future.

He watches other Aurors get paired up with wizards that complement them in all aspects, and wonders if that’s the case for Donghyuck and him; if other wizards see them as a logical, perfect match. Doyoung, a close friend of Mark that applied to Auror training late in the game, gets assigned to Jeno, a Hufflepuff from Mark’s year. Jeno had always been unexpectedly close to Donghyuck, but Mark had always attributed it to Jeno’s excessive kindness.

Paperwork keeps Mark’s busy and away from his thoughts for a few days, but time runs fast and doesn’t wait for his stability. The night before his first official day as an Auror, he can’t stop thinking about Donghyuck. He thinks about the eleven year-old that entered Hogwarts one year after him, at how his name was on everyone’s lips before he could even set foot into the Grand Hall. It had always surprised Mark that, in the middle of a war, at the beginning of the scariest year at school, students still had the will to gossip.

Mark, just twelve, had never seen a half-Veela.

Twirling on his couch, Mark realizes he needs to drink. He needs to talk, too, to get all this off his chest before taking a new step in his life. Deep inside, he’s aware that it’s not going to work out. Not with Donghyuck, never. They’ve hurt each other enough for a lifetime, and none of them has any reasons to forgive the other.

Mark shuffles out of his couch with a sigh, and blinks up at the stack of Floo Powder on top of the fireplace. Yukhei had invited him to go out with Jaehyun and Sicheng, the three of them, and drink. Mark hadn’t accepted with the excuse that he still had to prepare for tomorrow, and that showing up on the first day of work with a hangover wasn’t a wise decision, but he’s desperate now. A hangover could help him, even, not to focus solely on Donghyuck.

Aware that it’s going to be humiliating to appear in the Hog’s Head at three in the morning, Mark fetches his tunic and dips his hand into the Floo Powder, fisting a good amount of it. The fire is barely alive, but when he throws the Floo Powder inside, the green flames lick at the edges of the fireplace.

Mark steps into the fireplace, lamenting that it’d be much easier to Apparate into the bar, but there have been constant raids at Hogsmeade in the past few weeks, and Apparating is completely forbidden. It’d set an alarm for the guards, and Mark wouldn’t be the first one to get arrested and interrogated for forgetting the prohibition. The only way they have to control who enters Hogsmeade is limiting wizards to travel either by foot or through the Floo Network, and Mark obviously chooses the second despite how unpleasant it can be.

The Hog’s Head is vibrating with life, even so late at night, since it’s a Sunday. Mark gets registered right by the fireplace, and then he’s ushered to move along, for more travelers keep coming after him. It’s so crowded that Mark has to push past people, and he swears someone spills Butterbeer on his tunic.

Finding his friends isn’t that difficult; they frequent the same table, and even though the bar is noisy, their table is always the most boisterous one. Mark scans them from afar first, taking in who joined tonight: Yukhei, Jaehyun and Sicheng, but also Doyoung and Jungwoo. Doyoung, Mark guesses, must be as nervous as he is for tomorrow, and hence why he decided to drink the night before as well.

“Look who it is!” Yukhei screams at him, waving his arms to catch his attention. “Over here!”

Mark strides to their table, hoping Yukhei will stop drawing everyone’s attention to them. It’s never advantageous to have so many eyes on him. The rest of the guys greet him with varying levels of drunkenness, except for Sicheng, who looks completely sober despite the four empty glasses of beer sitting near him. On the other hand, Jaehyun’s head is hanging over his own neck, eyes half closed.

“I’ve got to admit,” Doyoung tells him one hour later, accompanied of a sympathetic pat on his back. “You’re not a lucky one, mate.”

Mark stares at his Firewhiskey and scrunches his nose at it, like it’s the cause of all his problems. He could have been paired up with Jeno, instead of Doyoung, and he’d have loved that: despite being friends with Donghyuck, Jeno never had a bad word or a bad gesture towards him during their Hogwarts years. And he’s hot, minus the lack of malice.

Any other option besides Donghyuck would have been wonderful, in fact.

“You- got this,” Yukhei cheers him up, a hiccup midway. When Mark throws a dirty look at him, Yukhei deflates. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. It’s been three years. Undoubtedly Lee Donghyuck can’t be the same asshole he was.”

Mark doesn’t even have time to contradict him. There’s an ephemeral silence, as though none of them can believe Yukhei has just said that, and then a high pitched laughter slips past Sicheng’s lips.

“Alright, maybe he still is!” Yukhei protests, and Mark can’t help but snicker. If there’s someone that knows how much Mark suffered because of him, and how much Mark made Donghyuck suffer too, that’s Yukhei. “But he’s gone through Auror training, just like you, and will know how to behave on the field.”

“Just maintain a professional relationship,” Doyoung supplies, not having any hope for another alternative. Jungwoo, next to him, nods in agreement. “And the little crush you had on him…”

Blood rushes to Mark’s face in a split second. He attempts to grab his glass, but he’s too agitated and the Firewhiskey nearly falls off his grasp. Sicheng laughs harder, amused at the mess he has become, and Mark lets Jaehyun aid him with the drink.

Flustered, Mark grunts, “For Merlin’s sake, I didn’t have a crush on him.”

Scandalized rather than offended, Doyoung lifts his index finger to point at him. Mark is about to warn him to put that down, for it wouldn’t be the first time Doyoung does wandless magic with his fingers – with alcohol in the mixture, his magical self-control is even weaker.

“You had a crush on him,” Doyoung strictly accuses him, as to challenge him to lie. “Yes, I _know_, you hated him, but his Veela side was part of the reason you couldn’t stop chasing after him.”

Mark, just twelve, had never seen a Veela before. And Donghyuck was beautiful, not the sort of beautiful that a human could be. Donghyuck, just eleven, had a certain manner of strutting, of raising his head to look at everyone over his shoulder as he strolled across the Grand Hall. There was never fear in his eyes, nerves of steel, beyond all the reasons he had to bow his head and be embarrassed, and throughout the years, only in one instance Mark had witnessed an emotion other than arrogance in him.

But Mark never loved him. It was frustration, for Donghyuck could never change, could never understand why Mark treated him the way he did.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Mark laughs, incredulous.

While Jaehyun cradles a hand around his nape, as to console him, Doyoung just shakes his head.

“Lee is nasty. _Was_ nasty,” he explains. His eyes wander around the bar, and Mark knows that he also has vivid memories of their past. Mark had coincided with Donghyuck due to their age, but Doyoung had shared classes with Donghyuck’s brother instead, so his memories of him are way more sinister. “Anyone in their right mind would have minded their own business, but you kept digging in his life.”

Mark had been a fool, and in a sense, he had deserved all the hatred Donghyuck felt for him. It a matter of self-preservation, for everyone had known not to mess up with the Lee brothers. Mark had lacked such instinct, like a fly bumping into a closed window once and once again.

“Now guess what?” Sicheng’s eyebrows arch, a knowing smirk on his lips. Mark can hide many feelings, but even after so many years, he can’t hide that his obsession for Donghyuck is still as strong. Sicheng mutters, “Now you can dig in his life for real.”

The hangover doesn’t help.

But when Donghyuck shows up without his Auror uniform, a notorious contrast against Mark’s fitting black clothes and the tunic with the Minister of Magic’s symbol, Mark is sure that the hangover prompts him not to be as annoyed as he should be.

Donghyuck racks his gaze up and down on him, a slight air of disgust on his face as he takes the way Mark is accommodated on the couch. The waiting room for Aurors is empty, for they’re being called by pairs, and that’s the reason Mark allows himself to sit like he’s at home, legs spread. Donghyuck has never been fine with comfort. Yet he’s no one to judge, not when he showed up on his first day of work with a dark purple tunic and tight pants and shirt. Mark isn’t used to seeing him in colors other than green, but he’s used to this display of carelessness for the rules.

“Veela,” Mark greets him, straightening up on the couch.

Donghyuck lifts his chin. “Lee.”

Mark doesn’t invite him to join him, but Donghyuck strides to him with the confidence of someone who has never needed permission. He adjusts next to Mark, so close that his thigh presses against Mark's without an ounce of shame. It’s on purpose, and Mark has to make a physical effort not to snap at him. Being touched by a Veela is quite different from touching a human, and Donghyuck is aware of that; he’s also aware that if Mark protests, he can remind him that they’re now Auror partners, and that he should grow accustomed to touching him.

Mark doesn't know what he expected, but he had forgotten quite a few things about Donghyuck. He had forgotten the manner in which Donghyuck could look at people, how he invaded personal space and became the owner of all of it. Mark shifts under his attention, and Donghyuck's analytical, intimidating gaze inspects his face with an unforgivable precision.

Mark only sees the ghost of a smirk when Donghyuck's attention strays away. And then, voice dripping with mockery, Donghyuck says, “I’d have never expected you to drink the night before an important event.”

This time, it's the hangover what protects Mark from the impact of Donghyuck's words. Free from embarrassment, Mark merely just runs a hand through his hair, head falling back as he snickers. He's not sure what's so funny; perhaps the fact that Donghyuck should never expect anything from him, not after so many years. Donghyuck knew little about him back then, and less does he know about who Mark has become.

“We’re not kids anymore,” Mark replies, not bothering to deny the accusation.

Donghyuck turns to him, eyebrows raised. The perfume of his hair blazes into Mark's face, stuns him even if Donghyuck has his Veela effect completely turned off, and for a moment, Mark can only think that Donghyuck's fragance has evolved as well. It's not pure and innocent now, but a fascinating illusion of obscenity.

“We never were kids, Lee,” Donghyuck reminds him. And he's not wrong. “That’s why we’re here now.”

And yet, Mark can't tell why Donghyuck sacrificed so much to be here today.

The war affected both of them, but Donghyuck will never understand how it was for the rest. They were twelve and eleven when Voldemort took over the magical world, and therefore over Hogwarts, and the next years were a constant struggle to forget what they had lived.

Mark will never accept the comparison, the equalization of their experiences, even though both of their childhoods and youths got stolen. It was a contrasted sort of stealth. And if Mark had learned something after the war, it was that one could never go back; his youth was gone, and so was Donghyuck's, and under the possibility of changing their past, Mark is certain that neither of them would act any differently.

That's what empties any hope he could have for Donghyuck, for this match to work.

“What I do outside these walls, when I'm not with you, is none of your business,” Mark throws at him. In a rush of bravery, he reaches out for Donghyuck's tunic, and Donghyuck freezes when Mark hooks his index finger in the fabric, pulling at it. “But what both of us do when we're working is important, and I'd appreciate if you started with obeying the rules, obeying the dress code, and not pretending that you care about my life.”

Mark lets go, and only then he realizes he has tensed up so hard that his thighs hurt, and _only the_n he realizes that Donghyuck's confusion has switched to an entirely different emotion.

He's not hiding his amusement, a spark tingling in his pupils, as he points out, “You still like to fight.” And Donghyuck does, too, because he hastily adds, “But you still don't know how to do it properly.”

Mark unconsciously perches his hand on his wand, hidden in his pocket. It's an old knee-jerk reaction, for he has raised his wand at Donghyuck a thousand times, and even Donghyuck is slightly surprised for a second. They're not teens now, they're not at war, and Mark's self-protective gesture falls odd to both of them.

But before Mark can feel anything akin to shame, the door of the Head Auror's headquarters opens and two Aurors of their batch walk out. They're carrying thick dossiers on their hands, and judging by the expression on their faces, their first assigned mission isn't as easy as they expected. That sends a rush of adrenaline through Mark, for he assumed as well that their first task would be pure routine to integrate them into the job.

Donghyuck stands up right away, smiling at both Aurors with his whole enchants on display, and Mark notices how they visibly relax. He's not sure if Donghyuck does it out of pity or just to remind himself that he can have that effect on everyone, but it irks Mark.

“Want to go first?” Donghyuck asks him, twirling his head to dedicate him a bored glance. Mark nods, straightens his legs and fixes his tunic, not disposed to let Donghyuck take the lead. He scoffs, “I thought so.”

But despite what it might seem, Donghyuck doesn't offer because he's afraid to enter first. In fact, when both of them step into the headquarters, Mark feels dizzy at the view: not only the Head Auror is waiting for them, but also the Auror council, around five people with a whole career in managing the Auror department. All of their faces are familiar to Mark, and all of them were important during the war. It's Donghyuck who greets them first, and it's him who grins at them and asks if they can sit, aware that he's allowed to step over certain social rules just because his Veela side does wonders.

“Lee Mark,” the Head Auror says, looking at him over his glasses while Mark takes the closest chair. And then he observes Donghyuck, handing him a dossier with the symbol of the Minister of Magic and both of his names, Donghyuck's and Mark's, printed on it. “And Lee Donghyuck. You must be wondering what your first case will be.”

After the three years of training, Mark can't help but be suspicious.

Being an Auror, at last, is a big novelty for him. When he takes his dossier, he's prepared for the worst, the subtle trembling of his fingers concealed behind the tension in his whole body. The Head Auror invites them to open the dossiers, but they're not as thick as the dossiers of the Aurors that left the headquarters seconds ago, and Mark has a bad hunch since the beginning.

The case is simple. Easy. Nothing that will require them to put their lives on danger.

Mark throws a confused look at Donghyuck while the Head Auror explains the whole case, and in a strange significant moment of comprehension, Donghyuck returns the same expression. It's nothing but a confirmation that Mark isn't crazy: it doesn't make sense that they're assigning this case to two of the best Aurors of the new generation, unless it's meant to take a toll on their egos, to remind them that they have no power in the Department yet.

Mark reads the dossier once and once again, and he keeps each one of his questions for himself. And when he dares to stare into the Head Auror's eyes, he's welcomed by a placid, intent smile that doesn't settle well in Mark's stomach.

Mark hasn't gone this far by trusting people, by being gullible and innocent. The smile drawn on the Head Auror's lips is a challenge, but Mark doesn't know what sort of challenge yet.

Not even in a million lives Mark would have imagined that one day he would have Lee Donghyuck sitting on his couch, legs crossed and a drink on his hand. And he would have never imagined that, despite the tense air between them, Donghyuck wouldn't stand out in such an intimate place like Mark's house.

All in all, Yukhei and Jaehyun advised Mark against the idea. Doyoung, on the other hand, encouraged him, assured him that it was a good idea to build trust with his Auror partner. It had been Doyoung's words what had driven Mark to take the decision: when Mark asked about Jeno and Doyoung's mission, he had refused to share it. Most Aurors had been forbidden to talk about their projects as well, unlike Mark and Donghyuck. It was nonsensical, and though Mark pretended that he was fine with it during his first two days, the truth was far from that. It was evident that every other Auror team had a serious, dangerous mission that required secrecy. Mark and Donghyuck's mission was a complete joke.

On the third night, without a drop of hesitation, he sent Donghyuck a letter. He could have used other method, but sending an owl his way was the least invading one. It was a first for both of them, and Mark had anticipated silence in response, or perhaps to get his owl sent back with a mocking, humiliating message.

But fifteen minutes later, Donghyuck had Apparated into his house with such grace that Mark had gaped for a second. Mark hadn't questioned why Donghyuck was still wearing his tunic at this time of the night when he should have been asleep instead, and Donghyuck had demanded a drink right away, spinning on his heels as he inspected Mark's living room.

“I'm glad to see you're still willing to put work before your well-being,” Donghyuck says when Mark joins him, lifting his eyebrows at the lack of alcohol in Mark's grasp.

Mark would drink with him, but it's already hard to control himself around Donghyuck when he's sober. And god, perhaps it's the dim light of the living room, but Donghyuck looks beautiful tonight, his blond, almost silver hair entangling with his eyelashes, tongue lapping over his plump lips to lick every drop of his drink.

Mark has little patience for him.

“Because I'm not sleeping?” Mark asks. “We never cared much about our well-being.”

Donghyuck gives him a dark side glance. “_Touché_.” The path to the Auror career is a tough one, starting from school, and they had to deal with the post-war scenario on top of that. It wasn't just about studying, but about surpassing their own trauma and frustration by becoming those who should have protected them. “Do you think we're being sabotaged?”

Mark hadn't even considered that. While Donghyuck might have some enemies within the Ministry, Mark doesn't, and he doubts they'd have gone as far as dragging Mark along.

“I think this is a test.”

Contrary to what the old Donghyuck would have done, he believes Mark. “What type of test?”

Mark doesn't want to sound like a madman, which given his theory is complicated. That's why he doesn't jump straight to the matter, why he forces himself to lock eyes with Donghyuck without fear, remembering that this is more important than their feud, and it’s more important than the ghosts Mark will have to face with Donghyuck in front of him.

“This mission is ridiculous. Euphoria Elixir smuggling? To find out who's managing Euphoria Elixir smuggling?” Mark asks, resigned. Mark doesn't need to explain further, for both of them are aware that Aurors take on much more serious issues; issues that aren't on the street or on everyone's mouths, and that often are completely secret. “I'll tell you who: poor kids that lost their parents during the war and don't have any other meanings of earning money.”

It should shock Donghyuck that Mark has managed to discover the ending of their mission so fast, so easily, but Donghyuck remains calm, curious.

He caresses the edge of his glass, pensive. “How do you know that?”

Mark doesn't have any excuse for that, so he opts for the truth. Donghyuck knows that Mark hasn't done any field work on the last three days, for they've been together all the time, and it'd have been foolish of Mark to investigate by himself when he has a partner.

“Yukhei consumes.”

Donghyuck’s gaze immediately flickers from his drink to Mark's mouth, as though he's trying to read his lips, as though he has heard wrong. But when he detects the seriousness in Mark's eyes, he realizes that he hasn't misheard it.

“Oh,” he answers, softly. “That's impressive.”

Mark understands it: Donghyuck has missed three very important years of their lives, and consuming Euphoria Elixir doesn't fit the image he has of them, especially of Gryffindor students. Mark has tried the Euphoria Elixir as well, but he isn't disposed to offer that powerful information to Donghyuck. He had his own reasons to try it, his own sufferings, and so does Yukhei. Not everyone has gotten over the amount of horrors they saw back then.

“Does this compromise your ethics?” Donghyuck asks then. He bends over the table, sets his drink there as to show that the drink doesn't deserve his attention when there are more severe matters, and continues, “To strip orphan kids off their business?”

For a second, Mark wants to laugh at his face.

“It's not about that,” he grunts. The good Mark that lives in Donghyuck's head, the forever nice, loyal boy that has been imprinted in his memories will disappear soon. “But if it was, yes, it does.”

Donghyuck is lost, and that feels like a small win for Mark. He has never had the upper hand with Donghyuck, and it's immensely satisfying to be the one teaching Donghyuck a lesson, even if Donghyuck is for once open to accept his proposal.

Upon catching that Mark is extending the silence on purpose, Donghyuck demands, “Then what's the matter?”

“There has to be something behind all this, not related to the smuggling,” Mark whispers, so low that Donghyuck leans towards him by instinct. Mark regrets it, for Donghyuck's proximity is another reason to make this conversation unbearable, but a part of him prevents him from raising his voice. “A matter beyond simple illegality.”

Donghyuck doesn't contradict him with words, but his eyes shift in a manner that Mark has witnessed a hundred times. He's making an effort not to laugh at Mark, whether it's because he deems his theory absurd or because Mark has never shown him such enthusiasm for anything, just insults and hatred.

When Donghyuck speaks again, his pitch is different, pleased, entertained and sort of enchanting, and it pierces through Mark's insides with the force of a whole sea. “What makes you think that?”

Mark wonders if, deep inside, Donghyuck had his own suspicions too.

“Again, we wouldn't have been assigned to such a ridiculous mission.” Mark shakes his head, a subtle smirk perching on the side of his mouth. “But they want us to prove ourselves by hiding certain information.”

And it's then, when Donghyuck breaks into a wide grin, that Mark knows that Donghyuck believes him. He reaches out for his drink again, makes a fake toast in the air, and announces, “The best Aurors of our generation, Lee.” He laughs, gaze shifting to the ceiling of Mark's living room. “Of course it wasn't going to be easy.”

Mark feels cautious. He doesn't trust Donghyuck just yet, and he doubts he ever will.

“And you're glad,” he points out, as he tries not to think about how Donghyuck's laugh sounds, how it vibrates in the silence of his house.

“I'm _delighted_,” Donghyuck corrects him. But a tiny flame appears on his eyes, just for a second, and he groans, “And so fucking mad.”

Mark doesn't hesitate: he slides his hand under Donghyuck's drink, and with a delicate movement, he guides both the drink and Donghyuck's grip to his mouth. Donghyuck parts his lips, but his gaze shifts to Mark's face with the promise of something; Mark doesn't know what. The bitter taste of alcohol does abate the beginning of an outburst, and the fire in him dies off.

Mark lets go. His fingers burn. “I don't want an angry Veela in my house,” he warns Donghyuck.

Donghyuck doesn't take his eyes off him. “You're a smart one,” he praises, because Donghyuck does know his Veela side better than anyone, and Mark has seen him change, has seen what can happen. The mere thought of it terrifies him. Donghyuck agitates his glass in his face and says, “Give me more of this. If you're right, we can't trace our plans at the office, so I hope you're ready to be up all night, every night.”

Mark doesn't tell anyone.

Having Donghyuck at home makes him feel guilty, makes him feel like he's breaking his principles. It's, in a way, disappointing, and that's the fear that takes over him after that first night: his friends, his parents, even all those wizards that have seen him grow up over the years, teachers, seniors and bosses, being disappointed in him.

Mark tries to tell himself that he's not indulging his past crush on Donghyuck, that he's not pleased with having him close and in an intimate situation, that he just feels that way because Donghyuck's Veela powers naturally mold Mark's thoughts. Yet it's still like a small, secret sin of his, and therefore Mark decides not to tell any of his friends. Not even Yukhei.

During the day, Donghyuck and Mark carry out the daily tasks of the job, pretend to follow the protocol that makes more sense. It's a waste of time, and every second they spend on paperwork or registering places that will lead them to what they already know prickles on Mark's skin like a needle. They stroll around the hot spots of Euphoria Elixir illegal smuggling, Hogsmeade and Knockturn Alley, and Mark watches in irritation how, rather than drawing attention because people know they work for the Ministry, it's Donghyuck who musters all the looks for his charms.

During the night, they meet up at Mark's house, where their true work has moved onto in the form of dozens and dozens of parchments spread on the floor, along seemingly random pages of The Daily Prophet. On the first night, Donghyuck cleared the space by moving all the furniture with a simple flick of his wand, and Mark hasn't bothered to put everything back in place. He will have to, eventually.

And tonight they sit on the floor, both Mark and Donghyuck, as they discuss the true nature of their plans. Every step of the path is a fight, but Mark is comfortable with a Donghyuck that opposes his ideas and his will, so it's known, safe territory.

The clock marks exactly three in the morning when Donghyuck loses his patience, after the tenth fight of the night, and glares at him.

“Pushover,” is what Mark spits at him when Mark rejects, for the fifth time, the proposal of rummaging through the headquarters' paperwork to see if they're indeed assigned to a questionable mission.

Mark knew that sooner or later, they’d resort to insults. Habits hardly die, and someone like Donghyuck, who always gets away with everything he wants, isn’t wired to accept rejection.

Mark doesn't understand why Donghyuck is insulting him until he flickers his eyes up and detects the frustration in Donghyuck's expression. It sends a kick of pleasure through Mark's body, but he pretends to be oblivious.

“What-” Mark begins.

Donghyuck slams his hand on the floor, right next to his parchment, and his Quick-Notes Quill hovers over his fingers like it's scared of its owner.

“You've always been a pushover,” he accuses Mark, lips quirking up in disgust. “You’re not a prefect anymore, Lee, you’re not supposed to make people follow the rules. We’re Aurors. We set the rules.”

That's far from the truth, but even after all the training they've gone through, Mark didn't expect someone like Donghyuck to understand the nature of their job in a humble way. Historically, the Ministry has lifted certain laws off Aurors so that they could work according to the circumstances, but Donghyuck shouldn't feel entilted to it.

Before Mark can remind him how fucked up his view of the world is, Donghyuck continues, “This is why we got paired up.” A sigh, a quiver of his eyelids as he makes the effort not to close them. “Besides the evident.”

After all, it spikes Mark's interest, for he has no idea why they're supposed to form a perfect pairing in the eyes of their seniors. There isn't any reason why Mark would feel comfortable with Donghyuck at late hours of the night, or for that matter, at any time of the day, other than he's incredibly pretty and a sight to see. His Veela charms aren't going to be that useful for Mark's skills when they're on the field, however.

Mark waves his hand, giving Donghyuck permission – which he doesn't need – to speak. “Illustrate me.”

There's a tiny spark of hesitation, not a usual emotion in Donghyuck, but it all makes sense when he decides to explain it to Mark – why they're meant to be together, why he believes in this, even if he doesn't want it either.

“We complete each other,” Donghyuck mutters, and though his voice breaks into the constant stillness of Mark's house, the silence that follows is even deeper. There must be a reason why Donghyuck feels vulnerable, because otherwise he wouldn't use his Veela voice. It's a small unconscious gesture that works as self-protection. Mark recognizes the change, the slight velvet tone that drags his words as Donghyuck says, “You stick to the rules, I skip them. You care about consequences, I don’t. So I pull you, and you pull me back, and that’s how we find balance.”

For half a minute, Mark can't speak, can't even process what he has just heard. He stares at Donghyuck, both of them lying on their stomachs and looking at each other across a pile of documents and parchments. And Mark realizes that, at last, life pulls him into odd paths. Paths where Lee Donghyuck thinks that they should be together, despite their past, despite how immovable their feelings towards each other are.

And it angers Mark, because unlike some wizards, he can't forget with the flick of a wand. He can't forgive Donghyuck just because he _has _to, because he _should_, while Donghyuck has forgiven him to some extent. The fact that Donghyuck is capable of moving on from the war so fast, just for the sake of his future, exasperates Mark beyond words. It makes him feel like he's stuck in time, like he has fallen behind.

“It was never that way, Veela,” Mark retorts. He can't conceal the emotions on his face, and Donghyuck slants his head to the side with a blend of curiosity and caution. “I’d say the story goes like this: you push me, and I push you back, and we both fall.”

And Mark has learned to fall, but that doesn't mean he's disposed to let Donghyuck push him down again. Deep inside, Donghyuck knows that he's right. Pretending that their feud doesn't exist is foolish, for it'll meddle between them sooner or later, and they should set up the basis of their relationship now, not in the middle of a mission.

Donghyuck's neutrality fractures, and Mark wants to believe that it's not disappointment what he recognizes at first, right before Donghyuck's features harden. He props himself up from the floor, but remains on one knee, kicking his Quick-Notes Quill with his foot, and then he sends Mark a look that could make any man in the world tremble for many reasons.

“If you don’t want to make this work, I’m not going to help you,” Donghyuck tells him, serious, a threat that is nothing but a mere truth.

Perhaps it'd be more comfortable for them if they kept their old ways, no matter how much that interfered with their work. Mark is tremendously uncomfortable with being on good terms with Donghyuck: it opens doors that should be closed, always closed.

That's why he copes with the situation better now, a bitter huff slipping past his lips. “You should have never been allowed into the Ministry of Magic,” he tells Donghyuck, void of shame, void of mercy. All the thoughts that Mark kept to himself creep on him, scratch at his skin, and bare his real self. “You have something worse than a criminal record.”

Donghyuck lifts his chin, but he doesn't say anything. He knows what Mark is talking about. It's the vilest, most despicable thing Mark could tell him, and it reminds both of them who they are, who they will always be for each other.

“Your blood,” Mark finishes.

It's a matter of luck that Donghyuck doesn't get angry at him. Mark might be a great wizard, might be one of the best of his generation, but Donghyuck is all that and, besides, a Veela. Mark can't assure that he'd be able to beat him, not now that they've received a formal education in the Dark Arts, and he’d have never been sure of it anyhow, considering the record of Donghyuck's family.

Against all odds, after a pause, Donghyuck laughs.

There have been just a few instances during Mark's life when he had the chance to see Donghyuck laugh with honesty. It was always around Renjun or Jaemin, and it was usually accompanied by a mean comment, a nasty look or any gesture that indicated that Donghyuck's joy was based on other people's disgrace.

But Donghyuck sounds happy then and there, in front of Mark's eyes flaming hate at him. Mark never thought there would be a day Donghyuck would laugh at someone picking on his bloodline, on his family, and yet that day has come.

“A Gryffindor talking about blood?” Donghyuck repeats, shaking his head. He isn't capable of erasing the enormous smile plastered on his face as he lifts his eyebrows at Mark. “Is the bloodline important now for you, or just when it comes to me?”

Donghyuck knows which words to choose to embarrass Mark. Believing that people's value is based on blood goes against Mark's ethics, against every fight he has fought, and both his family and friends would be disappointing upon hearing him right now.

Donghyuck manages to discover the worst of him, and that hasn't changed. And, most important, Donghyuck is aware of that.

“You need me,” he tells Mark, and at last, his smile evaporates. “You've always needed me, one way or another.”

If Mark was alone, he'd allow himself to consider that possibility. Donghyuck isn't the first person to point it out: Mark used to be obsessed with Donghyuck, even if it was just as an enemy. Back then, Yukhei told him that during hard times, when everyone wanted to give up, Mark kept going. And that he kept going because the fire of his personal vendetta towards Donghyuck maintained him afloat.

But Mark would never admit that, and less for Donghyuck.

“You're not the center of everything,” he says, sounding weaker than he'd like to. “You give yourself too much credit.”

The reply isn't immediate. There's a good reason for that.

Donghyuck watches him with intent, slowly studies him from head to toe like he's seeing him for the first time. Both of them are new, different persons, and somehow still the same; Donghyuck's silence is measured, the right amount of time for Mark to mull over his own words and his lies.

And then Donghyuck _moves_. He crawls on the floor, knees crumpling the parchments beneath him, approaching Mark with no rush and no pause. The world freezes around Mark, every particle in the room, and his eyes focus on Donghyuck like there’s no one else in the universe.

Mark doesn't know why he's not able to react. His body refuses to listen to his orders, forces him to sit and catch his breath as he observes Donghyuck creep towards him. Even when Donghyuck rests his hands on Mark's knees, the first intimate touch they share after three years, Mark can't push him away.

And he wonders if, after all, it's not Donghyuck's Veela powers what petrify him, if it's another sort of charm, one that shouldn't be talked about.

“I'm a Veela, Lee. Do you think I don't notice how people look at me, how _you_ look at me?” Donghyuck whispers, with so much precision that Mark's stare is inevitably drawn to his lips, to the way his lips curl around the words.

Donghyuck is too close, and his perfume drowns Mark in a daze, the little bit of consciousness left pulling at the edges of his mind. He's speechless, for Mark might have given signs that he appreciated Donghyuck in ways that weren't emotional, but Donghyuck never acknowledged them. Not until now, when Donghyuck climbs on him like a small, seemingly harmless kitten, and is ready to bite as soon as Mark lets his guard down.

Mark knows _how_ he looks at Donghyuck. He knows what he wants to do to him, and yet he's sure that he doesn't want to do it anyhow. It's complicated, two strings dragging him to opposite sides, one much stronger than the other, and only Mark's will keeping him in the middle.

Donghyuck's breath hovers over his lips, so dizzying that Mark has to make an effort to not roll his eyes at the sensation. And then, in a mutter, he says, “You'd break your wand in two if I told you, just for a kiss.”

Donghyuck could break the string that retains Mark, just if he wished so, and Mark wouldn't be able to stop him. His fingers caress over Mark's thigh, the imprint of his power trespassing the fabric of his pants. It's like acid on Mark's skin.

“And you hate that with your whole soul, you hate that you're crazy over someone whose brother hurt you so much.”

The mention of Donghyuck's brother dwells on Mark like ice; it's a contrast against the warmness he feels, a body full of cables short-circuiting, and Mark stops functioning altogether. Reason subdued, only his feelings remain. Donghyuck has always avoided the connection to his brother, and when Mark wanted to rile him up, his brother was the excuse he used. Donghyuck is throwing that back at him, leaving him disarmed, naked, and proving that he's not a kid anymore. If Donghyuck still laments his family, he won't show it.

A smirk flashes through Donghyuck's mouth, and he curls up his index finger in the collar of Mark's shirt. Mark can't help it this time: he closes his eyes, fearful of what he could do otherwise, and lets Donghyuck wrap a cloud of enchant around him.

“You hate that I'm on your side,” Donghyuck continues, and within, Mark wants to retort that they'll never be on the same side, not with Donghyuck's record. “But I'm on your side now, Lee, and that's what terrifies you the most.”

  


“For Merlin’s sake,” Yukhei mutters under his breath, half amazed, half horrified at the scenario. “What the hell did you let Lee do here?”

The chaos Mark is living in isn’t evident until Yukhei stands in front of it, wearing his pajamas and hugging a bag full of equipment against his chest. There's a certain beauty in how Mark's house has turned into an investigation office, but Yukhei doesn't seem to agree. Mark knows that he's being judged for it, as though he had lost his mind, and maybe he has, for Yukhei wouldn't be here to aid him if he hadn't.

“It wasn’t just him, Yukhei,” Mark corrects him, voice hoarse with pain.

Mark would have never summoned Yukhei in the middle of the night without a reasonable motive, and less would have he asked for Yukhei's healing skills if it wasn't an emergency. It's Friday night, and after a whole week of enduring the worst of his scar, Mark had to resort to Yukhei. He waited until tonight, for privacy, because he was scared of the effect Donghyuck had on him, and because he suspected he wouldn't be able to bear the loneliness of his own house during the weekend.

“You’re not alright, are you?” Yukhei sighs, dismissing Mark's clarification. He drops his bag next to the couch, the tingling of his healing utensils resonating in the living room, and signals Mark to sit on his own couch. “It’s the weekend, Mark, you should rest.”

Mark follows Yukhei's advice, though his friend means more than that, and huffs when Yukhei squats before him, observing his expression from up close.

“I can’t rest,” Mark confesses.

He couldn't, and he wouldn't. Some nights he's immersed in researching with Donghyuck, but during the last few nights and after his small discussion with him, both have been ignoring each other outside work. They're stuck, and his absence, instead of giving Mark room to relax, unsettles him. Mark isn't sure if it's the present or the past what keeps him awake.

“I see that,” Yukhei agrees. He glances around for a second, and then back at Mark's face. “Inviting Donghyuck into your home wasn’t a good idea, I have to admit that. And I’m not saying this because I don’t trust his intentions, but because I know that you aren’t over what happened.”

Opening his house for an enemy, for someone that had the ability to pulverize him had been absurd. Yet it was unavoidable: as Auror partners, their lives were going to be united forever, lest one of them died. It was either that or renouncing to his whole career, and Mark couldn't tell which option was worse, but he had already chosen.

“It hurts more today,” Mark murmurs, embarrassed.

Yukhei nods. “Let me see,” he whispers.

Mark lets him, the two of them grasping at the buttons of his shirt to undress him faster. When Mark's shirt slides down his shoulders, he avoids looking at his own body, drifting his gaze upwards instead. Yukhei doesn't speak, but his breath hitches at the view, and that's enough of a reaction for Mark to know the gravity of it.

Yukhei's hand lands on his forearm, fingertips softly pressing on his scar. “Did he touch you?” he asks.

The mere memory of it whips through Mark, a wave of heat in the pit of his stomach. It's shameful that Yukhei could guess that by the state of his wound, but the pain partly blinds those thoughts.

“He did,” Mark admits. Donghyuck on his knees, crawling on his lap, looking into his eyes. “I should have stopped him, but-”

“You don’t have to explain,” Yukhei cuts him off. “Unless you slept with him, because then I'll have to ask some ques-”

Bright red, Mark hisses, “I didn't sleep with him!”

Yukhei chuckles, slightly amused at Mark's excessive reaction, and says, “Was joking, Mark. I know you didn't.”

As to ease his embarrassment, Yukhei shifts to his arm again, eyebrows knitted in concentration. He traces the path of his scar, every inch of it despite Mark's groans of pain, from his forearm to his shoulder, and then to his chest. Yukhei knows that scar like the back of his hand, so Mark's magical tattoo, which he got just to conceal the remainders of the wound, doesn't prevent him from following the right path. The tattoo doesn't protect his skin, however, it protects Mark from remembering his past every time he faces a mirror.

“It's tender again,” Yukhei comments, _marvels_.

It's tender because Donghyuck touched him, and though it isn't a mad outcome, neither Yukhei nor Mark supposed this could happen. In fact, it took Mark a couple of days to suspect why his scar hurt so much.

Once Yukhei's eyes fix on Mark's face, it's obvious that Yukhei pities him. All the utensils he brought, all the medicines, and all the healing knowledge inside Yukhei's head can't break Mark's curse.

“I can give you some drugs for the pain, but there isn't any solution for this,” Yukhei confirms. He grabs at Mark's shirt, carefully slipping it back over his shoulders, and sighs. “Not one that you're disposed to take.”

Mark shakes his head, and with the stubbornness that paints every area of his life, he agrees, “No one that I'm disposed to take.”

He'll take all the pain in the world as long as his pride remains intact.

Mark has only been twice to the Knockturn Alley, so Donghyuck has a huge advantage on him.

On Monday, rather than sitting at their cubicles and reading through the innocent, fake hints of the documents from their dossiers, Donghyuck and Mark decide to take a field trip. They have to justify it first, for it's part of the supervision of their first case, yet Donghyuck barely has to give any explanations. His smile works miracles on their supervisor.

“That wasn't very ethical, Veela,” Mark accuses him once they've abandoned the Ministry grounds and are walking through the busy streets of London.

Mark proposed that, once they left their Office, they could Apparate, but Donghyuck refused to do so. It was Mark's turn to feel an itch of inferiority, since Donghyuck revealed that half of the shops at the Knockturn Alley had dark charms around them that informed them of who, when, and where from wizards Apparated.

They Apparated close to the Diagon Alley, however. Unlike Donghyuck, Mark hadn't brought Muggle clothes to go unnoticed in the streets, but regardless he looked much more sober than Donghyuck did. It was an odd sight to watch Donghyuck with a pair of clear blue jeans and a white simple t-shirt, but Mark had to admit that the simplicity of his choice was a blessing. He had seen wizards wear very ridiculous clothes.

“Wasn't it?” Donghyuck shoots back, shamelessly imitating Mark's reproaching tone. “They knew who they were hiring, thus they'll have to deal with the consequences of it.”

That should have been another reason for the Ministry not to allow Donghyuck into their Auror program, but Mark reckons that they saw more pros than cons in him.

“You're familiar with the Knockturn Alley, isn't that right?”

Donghyuck dedicates him a funny look. “You could say I'd be able to walk around with my eyes closed.”

The image of Donghyuck exploring the Knockturn Alley, alone, with the amount of women and men that would give anything to trap, manipulate or force a Veela, sends a shiver down Mark’s spine. He’s certain Donghyuck can defend himself, but the mere idea of him being used by a dark wizard irks Mark.

“How so? How were you allowed to visit so often without the Ministry questioning you?” Mark asks, because yes, there are undercover Aurors everywhere, and they’d have informed the Ministry of Donghyuck’s activities.

“Oh, you're attributing it to my Veela side,” Donghyuck laughs, absolutely loving that Mark would think so badly of him. That, or it strokes his ego that Mark considers his Veela powers so strong for him to defraud the whole system. He slows his pace, however, to be right next to Mark and whisper, “I don’t have a particular liking for the Knockturn Alley. The Ministry explicitly told me to get acquainted with it.”

Mark breathes in, realizing what that implies.

“You're the corrupted side.”

Donghyuck hums, pleased with the term. “You're the good cop, I'm the bad cop. Who else? Anyone would believe that Lee Donghyuck is devious, like his brother. But you,” Donghyuck scoffs, as if the joke tells itself. “They can believe you went astray for me, though.”

Mark presses his lips into a line in an attempt of containing himself. He shouldn’t fight with Donghyuck once more, for the days they spent angry at each other were an awful waste of time, and Mark dreads feeling like he’s running out of time. Besides, whether it’s because they’re outside or because Donghyuck doesn’t hold a grudge against Mark anymore for mentioning his brother last week, Donghyuck is in a good mood. And Mark needs him in that state.

They enter the Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron, where both of them change into their tunics. Donghyuck attracts more attention than Mark would like to, but when he’s about to complain that he shouldn’t have chosen such clothes to visit this place – a purple, dazzling tunic and black pants that stick to his legs in ways that any dress code would forbid – Donghyuck just smiles at him. Mark is learning that scolding him about purposely being attractive is adding fuel to the fire that burns within Donghyuck, so he makes a mental note not to comment on it. The only consolation is that perhaps wizards that frequent the Knockturn Alley might have a more welcoming attitude towards people like Donghyuck.

Over the noise of the Leaky Cauldron, Donghyuck offers his arm and demands, “Take me.”

Mark’s first instinct is to step back, for he knows that touching Donghyuck will worsen his scar. “What?”

“I said, take me,” Donghyuck repeats. His fingers curl inward, as to attract Mark, and he racks his stare up and down, noticing his sudden reticence. “We’re not walking into the Knockturn Alley without a plan, and the plan is that I’ve got you wrapped around my finger.”

And of course, Donghyuck’s reasoning is that pretending that they’re a couple, or that they’re together somehow, is the best idea. It might not be the best, but Mark knows that if someone that knows them, sees him with Donghyuck in such an atrocious place, they’ll immediately conclude that they’ve been sent by the Ministry. On the contrary, having Donghyuck perched on his arm will justify Mark’s corruption.

“Why not the other way around?” Mark protests either way, trying to delay the moment he has to touch Donghyuck.

“Lee.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, exasperated. “People aren’t even going to look at you. So would you please stop being stubborn?”

Mark has no excuses, and he’s not going to humiliate himself by showing that he cares too much about this, so he extends his arm for Donghyuck. It’s beyond strange to feel Donghyuck gripping on him, surrounding his arm and pressing his body against his.

As they exit the Leaky Cauldron, Mark reminds himself to breathe. To forget his own tension, to think that it's other boy, not Donghyuck, who is tightly connected to him right now. Luckily for him, the drugs Yukhei lent him subdue the pain he could experience, but Mark is aware that it won't help later tonight. Once the drugs are out of his system, Mark is going to wail for hours.

Donghyuck subtly leads Mark through the Diagon Alley, taking the fastest route to the Knockturn Alley to avoid excessive attention on them. Mark has always felt an emotion akin to amazement at how different both alleys are, for a simple step around the corner changes the whole scenery. It distracts Mark from thinking about Donghyuck, but he makes sure not to stare at any wizard for too long, and dismisses any street vendor that approaches them. Maybe when they've visited the Knockturn Alley together a few times, Mark will be able to afford talking to the vendors, for there's a higher possibility they will know about the nuances of the Euphoria Elixir. They could be involved even, but it's too soon to ask questions.

Tallow and Hemp Toxic Tapers is their first stop, and as they've agreed, it should be the only one. Donghyuck assured him that he wasn't friends with the owner, for the man feared him from the deepest part of his soul, but the owner's son respected him. It was a good start, and if they didn't get the information they needed there, they'd have to try their luck elsewhere.

The door of the shop is, of course, closed. That's the reason Mark could never walk through the Knockturn Alley alone: the magical passwords are passed from mouth to mouth so that they expand across the right kind of wizards, and Mark isn't a wizard that should be here. Donghyuck is, though.

Donghyuck lets go of Mark for a second, and then bends down to press a kiss on the lock of the door. Mark can't help it: he instinctively grasps Donghyuck's tunic from behind, at the level of his hips, to tug him back at any moment. No one in their right mind would ever put their mouth on a lock, not on the lock of a shop that sells poisonous candles, but Donghyuck does.

The door tingles and opens with a click, as though Donghyuck has muttered a spell into its gears, and Donghyuck stands tall again. His hand rests on Mark's hand, a slight shadow of surprise on his face because of Mark's protective gesture, and the next thing Mark knows is that Donghyuck has entangled their fingers and is pulling him inside.

The youth of the man behind the counter indicates that he's the owner's son, and so does the ephemeral smile he flashes at Donghyuck before catching Mark's presence.

“Fancy seeing you back here, Mister Lee,” he greets Donghyuck.

Donghyuck returns the smile, but he tugs Mark close enough for the boy to drift his attention. “I brought company this time,” Donghyuck merrily announces, his Veela tone on full force. “I hope you have what he's looking for.”

Mark clears his throat, and though his discomfort could be interpreted as nervousness, the seller interprets it as mere impatience. They must have plenty of customers that are far from talkative, so Mark fits just right.

Donghyuck doesn't hesitate as they step up to the counter, and when the owner's son has the decency to ask Mark for his preferences, Donghyuck interrupts him. If they weren't in the middle of a mission, Mark would swear Donghyuck is feeling a tiny bit possessive over him, but it's all part of their roles.

After Donghyuck makes sure to indicate the most obscure, strange sort of candles, the man walks into the warehouse to look for them. Mark doesn't know why Donghyuck wants to get rid of him, but he understands that there must be a reason, for Donghyuck immediately spins on his heels and starts inspecting every object in the shop.

“Don't touch anything,” Mark hisses. Donghyuck strides across the shop, hands resting on every surface, slants over every candle to sniff them. “You don't know-”

Donghyuck glances back at him, skeptical. “Are you trying to protect me, Lee?” he mocks him, as to pull at Mark's leg. “Do you need a reminder that this is my natural habitat?”

To prove his point, Donghyuck wraps his hand around one of the red candles resting on a table. Mark can't conceal the faint gasp that leaves his lips, and less can he bear the urge to approach Donghyuck and tug him away. Donghyuck must know that the candle is harmless, because he scrunches his eyes in pleasure at Mark's reaction, and even lets himself be pulled away.

“You're out of your mind,” Mark grunts at him, feeling a wave of warmth in his face.

And he intends to spit a dozen more warnings, because this shop sells poisonous candles, candles that could kill a room full of people just with their scent, candles that could enchant, manipulate and enslave people – the options are endless, and all of them are dangerous – but Donghyuck leaves him breathless.

Mark doesn't understand what's going on when Donghyuck, not braking himself, crashes against him and throws his arms around Mark's frame. Even under the effect of the drugs, pain whips through Mark, and he grumbles with his mouth closed, afraid of having to give explanations. When he opens his eyes to face Donghyuck, eyelashes fluttering up at him, he wonders if he's in a dream; in a nightmare, maybe.

“Darling, I’ve always wanted one of these,” Donghyuck whines, and the voice he uses might be peppered with his usual Veela influence, but Mark has never heard it with so much intensity.

It's a voice that could make any man kneel for him, and Mark claws at his own pain to keep his sanity in place. It's there, in the last ray of light inside his mind, where he comprehends why Donghyuck is being affectionate.

“I’ve spent so many Galleons on you today,” Mark lies, a protest that doesn't sound too convincing. He hears the steps of the owner's son, the noise of the candles being placed on the counter; he has the temptation to check his expression, to know if their little theater is working, but no man would ever look away from a Veela that is pleading for them. That would be telling enough for the owner’s son to kick them out. “Don’t you have enough?”

“Come on, we never have fun,” Donghyuck whispers, just loud enough to be heard by the man. He plays with the back of Mark's tunic, hands so low on his back that Mark swears he's going to hex him later. “You don’t take me to The White Wyvern anymore.”

Behind Mark, the seller laughs, smitten with Donghyuck's begging act. Mark whips his head to look at him at last, and that quick look informs him that he's indeed buying the scene.

“You should take the lad to the pub next weekend,” he tells Mark.

It's not just simple advice. To enter the White Wyvern, you need to be brought as a plus one by their most loyal customers or receive a direct invitation. That's what the seller is offering him: an invitation so that he can indulge his Veela and get the best out of it later. Disgusting, in Mark's opinion, and the reason why he hates that Donghyuck strolled around alone in the Knockturn Alley for so long.

“Should I?” Mark lifts his eyebrows at him, defying.

The guy nods, a nasty smile extending on his face. “It’s going to be quite the event.”

“Really?” Donghyuck chirps up. His words ring in Mark's ears like a melody, and if he's perceiving Donghyuck's charms so strongly, he can't imagine how the other man is taking it. Donghyuck pleads once more, “Babe.”

Mark has to blink for a few seconds, to breathe deeply, to calm himself down. Otherwise, he’d slam Donghyuck against a wall, and then he wouldn't know what to do to him.

His moment of self-control gets mistaken by vacillation, though, because the seller insists, “Boys like him have to be treated well, sir. They have too many options.”

Donghyuck smiles at him, fervently nodding, “We do.”

Mark decides to relent, sighs in resignation, and Donghyuck pretends that it's the sign for him to grab the candle that he wants. He almost floats around the shop, drenched in happiness, and hands the seller a couple of red candles. They join the package of Mark's supposed request, three tiny, pistachio colored candles, and the owner's son chuckles while he packs the last ones.

“Those are good for couples,” he comments, eyes directed at Mark with a clear, indecent message.

It's almost impossible not to roll his eyes, but Mark holds back. Donghyuck is so irritating that he made sure to choose a candle that could shame Mark. It's compromising, insulting to Mark even if it's just an act, and embarrassing. Mark is going to strangle him.

And yet, when the man slips a tiny piece of parchment into the brown package, Mark isn't so exasperated anymore: that's their ticket to the night life of the Knockturn Alley, and that's why they went there in the first place.

Mark's happiness is short-lived.

While Donghyuck sticks to him until they've left the Knockturn Alley, the expression on his face is broadly different. The spark of his flirting has been replaced by a darker emotion, and Mark recognizes the old Donghyuck in him, the boy that would have pushed him off a cliff if it was necessary. Mark tries to talk to him, but Donghyuck shuts him down every time, reminds him to keep an eye on the package – insinuating that he can sense Mark's eyes on him, and that they shouldn't be on him.

Mark convinces himself that it's just one of Donghyuck's humor shifts and he shouldn't worry about it. He should, however. When they arrive at the Leaky Cauldron, Donghyuck doesn't appear disposed to go back into the Muggle streets; in fact, he fixes his tunic, sends Mark a pointed look, and launches towards him.

Despite all the training Mark has received, he doesn't have time to step out of Donghyuck's space. Donghyuck sinks his fingers in his wrist, eyes flashing red, and then they're Apparating.

A wave of panic invades Mark. All of sudden he's not Auror, he's not an adult. All of sudden he's back in the war, he's wearing his Gryffindor robes, and a Slytherin has trapped him in a secret hall. It lasts for a second, and the vision finishes as soon as the Apparition does, but Mark doesn't recover his breath. His surroundings are white, and he can't even feel Donghyuck around him, tied to a past memory that doesn't liberate him. He bends down, hands on his knees, and takes a moment to cling onto reality.

Reality, however, isn't much better. Mark doesn't know where he is, where Donghyuck brought him.

Blinking away the white spots in his sight, Mark wipes his head up. They’re in a spacious, old living room, so empty and desolate that Mark would bet no one lives here; behind Donghyuck, Mark can see the hall, the stairs coiling up to the second floor. It takes Mark a few seconds to realize that Donghyuck has Apparated with him in his house; a house which atmosphere tells more about Donghyuck than any of his words and acts.

Upon inspecting the living room, Mark comprehends why they’ve never switched their little secret headquarters to Donghyuck’s house. The blinds down, the candles off, the dust on the furniture, they all are signs that Donghyuck doesn’t spend much time there.

But when Donghyuck opens his mouth, Donghyuck’s daily life is the last of Mark’s problems.

“Take your top off,” Donghyuck orders him, completely serious.

Mark can choose, though. Donghyuck could have forced that on him, but he hasn’t. It’s a small game of power, and Mark can play it. If Mark has to take his clothes off for Donghyuck, it won’t happen with violence. 

“Veela,” Mark scoffs, but his hand unconsciously rests on his chest to protect himself. “Don't think you can just-”

Donghyuck nearly snarls at him, “Take it off.”

And before Mark can process what's happening, why Donghyuck has such a command for him, Donghyuck closes the distance between them. Mark isn't that much taller, but it's enough for Donghyuck to have to lift his head to look at him; that doesn't make him lose even a fraction of his intimidating aura, though. “Mark, freaking Lee, I saw you twist in pain every time I touched you. I touched your arms and I touched your chest, and I know when a man is hiding something.”

All the blood drains away from Mark's face in a split second. He thought he was doing a good job at pretending, but Donghyuck is one of the best wizards of his generation for a reason. Besides, the war taught them to be alert, to beware of any hint or sign, and that's still heavily ingrained in their bodies. Even if Mark does something as insignificant as frowning, Donghyuck will need a reason to justify it; if it's unexplainable, then it's a danger.

By the time Mark finds the words to answer, he's feeling exhausted. “This is none of your business,” he retorts at Donghyuck, not a tiny bit guilty as Donghyuck's fury falls flat.

“It's not my business?” Donghyuck repeats, incredulous. Perhaps it's because the whole house is in silence, but his voice blooms with too much strength, vibrates in every bone of Mark's body. “It is, as long as you're my Auror partner.”

It'll hurt both of them, but Donghyuck doesn't know that yet.

It could be a test for him, somehow, Mark realizes. If he's on Mark's side for real, if he has a heart and some mercy in him, he'll be able to feel remorse for the pain inflicted on Mark. Yet if Donghyuck isn't a monster, showing him his scar will change their relationship forever, even their partnership. For better or for worse, or maybe just to kick them to the starting point, but there's no way Mark will be on the losing side. If Donghyuck is hurt, he'll be glad, because he'll be damned if he wouldn't take the chance to emotionally harm Donghyuck. If he's not hurt, Mark will be relieved that Donghyuck hasn't changed after all, and he'll finally know what to expect from him.

After staring into Donghyuck's eyes for a long while, Mark grumbles, “You always get what you want.”

It sounds like surrender, yet it's a choice. When Mark brings his fingers to the buttons of his shirt, Donghyuck's attention flickers to his chest with an eagerness that would have made him blush years ago. Mark isn't a kid anymore, however, and he can bear the gaze of a man on him while he strips. And Donghyuck has watched many horrors to cower at the sight of a half-naked man in front of him, so his stare remains on every inch of skin that Mark reveals, his impatience palpable and his anticipation betraying him.

For once, Mark holds a great power against him. He unbuttons his shirt slowly at first, but once he reaches the last button, he arches his back and pulls at the sides of his shirt to expose his whole torso.

It's too sudden, and it catches Donghyuck unprepared, a sonorous gasp reverberating in the empty living room.

Mouth agape, Donghyuck's eyes trail all over the imprints on Mark's skin, from the scar to the tattoo, back and forth, back and forth. His shock is evident, but his expression is blank, and Mark can't grasp what Donghyuck is thinking about. He could be thinking about the day Mark got tortured by his brother. Or he could be thinking about all the times Donghyuck gave his back to him, all the times he could have helped.

There’s bile in Mark’s mouth when he shoots, “Too many questions?”

For once, Donghyuck doesn’t seem to be up for a fight. The sight of what Mark has been hiding, what he would have hidden forever had Donghyuck not forced him, is overwhelming. It’s just fair that Donghyuck has to deal with the torrent of memories that Mark’s scar brings. Mark deals with them every day.

“Why is it still alive?” Donghyuck murmurs. Close enough to touch him, his hand hovers over Mark’s chest. He watches how the ink of the tattoo moves under Mark’s skin, how it slips into the scar to conceal it when Donghyuck’s fingers threaten to touch. “The scar, it should have-”

“Disappeared when your brother died, yes,” Mark cuts him off in agreement. But just like the consequences of war, getting rid of a magical scar wasn’t so simple. “The hex had too much soul.”

If a monster could have a soul, anyway.

And it’s right then, with Donghyuck falling into his own despair, that Mark realizes his plan to hurt him is about to backfire. The shock drifts into pity, into empathy, and Donghyuck stares at him like he’s asking for a chance. For redemption.

“Mark-” he whispers.

“Shut your mouth,” Mark grunts. He should have predicted this could be the outcome. It’s the right thing to do, and though Donghyuck has never been too inclined to help people that didn’t belong to his circle, he’s a bit different nowadays. “The answer is no.”

Donghyuck doesn’t relent. He’s confused at the rejection, confused at why Mark would choose pain just not to receive help from him, and overall, he’s stubborn.

Scowling, he insists, “I have, too, Veela blood, and it’s the same blood he had-”

For a second, Mark has the urge to hold his wand and shut Donghyuck up in the wrong way. Fury blinds him, but he promised himself that he wouldn’t let Donghyuck ruin his career; and somehow he deserves that Donghyuck is being so nosy, for Mark was just as annoying when they were in school.

However, Mark doesn’t block his secondary reaction: he holds Donghyuck’s face between his hands, not with delicacy, but with all his force. Donghyuck loses his balance, either because of the surprise or the strength, and a flash of fragility is reflected on his face. Mark’s whole body burns at the contact, not just his scar, but he doesn’t release Donghyuck.

“I said no,” Mark repeats, slow and hard. There’s barely an inch between their faces, but Mark doesn’t care, doesn’t realize he’s invading Donghyuck’s space with aggressiveness. Donghyuck has never cared about his comfort either, and he’s proving that right now, so Mark doesn’t have any reason to be nice to him. “Do you get it, Donghyuck? I said _no_. And you’re going to respect that, because I can assure you that if you step over this limit, this specific limit, it’s over for us.”

Pain writhes down Mark’s chest with so much intensity that he has to let go. Donghyuck has the same blood that did this to him, and upon rejection, his scar vibes with Donghyuck’s emotions. Mark catches his breath, but as soon as he releases Donghyuck from his grasp, the vehemence of the pain dies own.

Donghyuck’s eyes sparkle in the dim light of his living room, tears that won’t ever come out. Both have cried enough, but the realization that one of them is still physically suffering is hard to process, and Mark watches Donghyuck swallow the knot in his throat.

There’s silence afterwards, just silence that becomes odd to Mark’s ears, for it isn’t natural for Donghyuck not to persist. Without a word, Donghyuck carefully reaches for the edges of his shirt, and as tough the fabric could scratch Mark, he tenderly slides it over his shoulders again. Mark can’t breathe while Donghyuck roams his hands all over his chest, and in apparent calmness, starts doing his buttons one by one.

Mark inhales with long, heavy movements, but Donghyuck doesn’t make fun of him for it. Even though he could use the excuse that it’s because the scar hurts, Donghyuck is aware that it’s because of his Veela aura. It’s too intimate, not only for them two, but for anyone else. By covering Mark’s wounds, Donghyuck is giving him the right to finish this discussion, and Mark is beyond reassured.

When Donghyuck’s fingers are entangled in the buttons over Mark’s abdomen, he sends Mark an undecipherable look and remarks, “The tattoo is illegal.”

It is, but Mark didn’t expect Donghyuck to realize. It means he has seen illegal tattoos before, and though it makes sense given his record and his circle, Mark had hoped for that little fact to remain a secret.

He feels his mouth dry as he says, “Only illegal tattoos respond to the Dark Arts like that.”

A regular, Muggle legal tattoo would have covered his scar, but Mark knew what he had needed back then: magical ink that could slip away from his scar sometimes. It wasn’t a healed scar, thus Mark needed to have access to it every time it got infected; a magical tattoo felt like having a second layer of skin moving underneath, caressing him from inside. Besides, he had just discovered that the ink obeyed to Donghyuck’s touch as well.

Donghyuck’s hands linger on the last button, his whole focus on Mark’s eyes instead. “Mark Lee with an illegal tattoo,” he whispers, like tasting it on his tongue. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a lopsided smirk, but Mark isn’t sure if he likes the concept or just finds it amusing. “Did you get more?”

It’s comprehensible why Donghyuck would be curious. Mark has always loved following rules, has always worn his prefect status on the front; for wizards like Donghyuck, it’s a delight to see how someone falls into corruption. It’d have been even better if Donghyuck had been the cause of it, and Mark has to make an effort not to remind him that, at last, this was his fault too.

Mark never manages to answer, though, because a voice blooms from behind them. Mark’s hearts leaps against his ribcage, since he assumed they were alone, but as his gaze locks with Huang Renjun’s eyes, he realizes that Donghyuck doesn’t live alone.

“Donghyuck? Is everything alright? I heard-” Renjun, standing under the door frame, catches sight of Mark. Of Donghyuck’s hands on his shirt, of their proximity, of how they separate with a snap, as though they’ve been doing something that they shouldn’t. “Oh.”

Observing Renjun, Mark wonders if he’ll ever get used to see the Slytherin students without their green robes. Renjun looks pretty much the same, small and breathtaking, with that air of detachment that reminds Mark of Donghyuck, but the satin blue pajama he’s wearing shows him in a vulnerable position. It makes him human, and Mark isn’t used to seeing them as such.

“It’s fine,” Donghyuck assures him, but his voice breaks. He avoids glancing at Mark, suddenly aware of the intimacy they were sharing, and Mark would swear that he’s _embarrassed_. He should be, just like he should learn to keep the distance. “We were just discussing some… Ministry related issues.”

Renjun doesn't point out that one does not discuss Ministry's issues with their hands on their partner's abdomen, but he opts for raising his eyebrows at Donghyuck. They've been friends for so long – and more than friends, Mark knows this matter of fact – than they don't need to talk to communicate, and so Donghyuck cowers at Renjun calling him out on his ridiculous excuses.

At Donghyuck's lack of explanations, Renjun shifts his gaze to Mark and with a cordial smile, he greets, “It’s been a while, Lee.”

Three years, Mark wishes he had the courage to tell him. And if it had depended on him, it would have been endless. Mark's plans for his future didn't include being in Donghyuck's house, meeting the boy that had hogged all of Donghyuck's time and kindness – leaving none for the rest. Mark had always assumed that there had to be a seed of evil for Renjun to love Donghyuck so much, and the same applied to Lee Jeno and Na Jaemin. But one had to be clinically sick to end up living with him.

“It doesn't feel like a long while,” Mark retorts, not in the mood to reconcile with any of the Slytherins. Especially those in Donghyuck's life. “You're the same.”

Renjun's lips twist into a feline smile, vulnerability faded away. “And yet you're quite different, Lee,” he whispers, a whisper that feels like a scream among them. “Full of surprises.”

Back then, Mark would have been reticent to confront Renjun. For him, Jaemin and Renjun were just as bad as Donghyuck, and up to this day Mark isn't sure about Lee Jeno. Guilty by association, all of them.

“Renjun,” Donghyuck hisses, flashing an angered glance at his friend. “Leave.”

After all the tension and the humiliation Mark has suffered today, he enjoys that Donghyuck is receiving his own medicine. He appreciates Renjun's presence, no matter how much he has misinterpreted the scene he encountered, for it mortifies Donghyuck.

“It's my house too, dear,” Renjun cheekily shuts him down. He runs a hand through his hair, and though he's talking to Donghyuck, his gaze fixes on Mark's face like he's monitoring every tiny reaction of his. “You know the rule about bringing boys. You have to warn me first.”

It's a provocation, and Mark doesn't fall for it. Doyoung had told him once that even after Hogwarts, wizards never matured, and Renjun is the proof of it. He was one of the few persons that were aware of Mark's crush on Donghyuck – it was easy to guess for him, since he felt the same for Donghyuck. It's natural that he's curious of if Mark has forgotten about it, if he has realized how nonsensical and insane his feelings were.

And god, Mark might never admit it out loud, but he's curious as well. Deep inside he wants to know why Donghyuck and Renjun live together. If they're still fucking. If they're serious about each other. If they're in love. He wonders where Jaemin is, too, and if they've fallen out of touch.

“For Merlin,” Donghyuck grumbles, but against all odds, he doesn't lose his patience. He must be accustomed to Renjun's behavior, perhaps because he's just as rude. And then, for some reason, he rolls his eyes and tells Mark, “We don't have any rules about boys.”

Mark could remind him that such information is meaningless for him, that he doesn't care about his personal life. It'd be a lie, however, and Mark doesn't have any more strength in him to pretend today.

That's why he straightens up, ignores Renjun despite the insistent scrutinizing pair of eyes on him, and proposes, “Shall we go back to the Ministry?”

Donghyuck nods more fervently than ever, and Mark realizes he could have extended his suffering for longer just to get back at him. Not bothering to say goodbye to his friend, Donghyuck clasps his fingers around Mark's wrist for the second time today, and then looks for a confirmation in Mark's semblance.

“Come and have dinner some time with us, Lee,” Renjun chirps up, right before Mark nods at Donghyuck's silent question. He notices how Donghyuck's eyes widen in shock upon hearing Renjun's invitation, and Mark smiles to himself, aware that it's all he needs to show up at the door if he wishes so. Donghyuck doesn't Apparate fast enough for Mark not to hear the last of Renjun's words, an optimistic, teasing, “We could catch up.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you want to be jealous, you should put your hands on me first,” he says, chin up. His lips are red, swollen, and Mark burns at the mere thought that it's because of another wizard's kisses. It makes him sick to his stomach. “At least other men aren’t afraid to show that they want me, Lee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter!! im sorry it took me so long to update but i wasnt at home T.T next update won't take that long ♡

“I think I love him,” Yukhei nearly screams, on the edge of tears after five minutes of non-stopping laughter. “He’s still an asshole.”

Yukhei doesn’t judge Mark for his mistakes.

But Mark’s biggest mistake is Donghyuck. Letting Donghyuck touch him, wanting to be touched, refusing Donghyuck’s help, and his scar reveals all that without the need to talk.

Mark doesn’t meet up with his friends during a couple of days, too exhausted and pained, and overall, aware that Yukhei will chide him if he discovers that Mark is going against all logic and self-preservation. Sooner or later, however, Mark has to resort to him: his scar needs more healing, and Mark doesn’t have neither the guts nor the substances required to cure him.

Yukhei isn’t spending Thursday night alone, however, so Mark arrives at his flat and finds Jaehyun comfortably making dinner for three. No one warned him that they’d be alone, but Mark reckons that Jaehyun is better than having Doyoung, Sicheng or Jungwoo around, who will frown upon his decisions to different extents.

After dinner, Mark takes his robes off and explains what happened while Yukhei applies a new unguent on his skin. Jaehyun aids him, passing all the ointments he needs and magical gloves that won’t irritate Mark’s skin further, but Mark can see in his expression that he’s concerned over him. Mark is torn between being grateful or offended.

When Mark finishes his small tale, Jaehyun murmurs a not so subtle “_Accio Candle_!” and the red candle that he bought fights its way out of his bag, flying into Jaehyun’s hands instead. The candle makes a dry sound when it hits Jaehyun’s palms, and Yukhei turns around to inspect the candle, curious as well. It’s then when laughter possesses both of them, when Mark stares at them in complete disbelief, not wanting to accept that their own friends find Donghyuck’s antics and invasion of privacy _funny_.

“I don’t know what’s humoring you so much,” Mark protests, befuddled.

Yukhei removes his gloves, guffawing every time he tries to talk. Hooking a finger, he indicates Jaehyun to throw the candle at him; Mark yelps when Jaehyun swirls the candle instead of using magic, but his aim is impeccable and so are Yukhei’s reflexes.

“He made you pretend you were his sugar daddy, of some sort,” Yukhei begins.

Scandalized, Mark cuts him off, “We were a couple.”

Yukhei laughs harder, inspecting the candle from up close. It’s not a good sign that Jaehyun scoffs without an ounce of respect and supplies, “Yes, a couple in which the Veela gets the mortal wizard to buy pretty, dangerous stuff for him in exchange of affection.”

There have been just a few stances in Mark’s life when he has been this ashamed. Realization surges over him: they could have passed as a couple, but Donghyuck begged and faked his Veela enchants on him while they were at Tallow and Hemp Toxic Tapers. For the owner’s son, Mark must have looked like a fool that was crazy and willing to do anything to fuck a Veela, or a man so absorbed by the Veela aura that was far gone from reality.

Very pleased, Yukhei continues, “Then he embarrassed you by asking for a Passion Candle, which is basically used to fuck like rabbits.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Mark, as though they’re twelve and haven’t touched another man in their whole lives. “It’s like a Love Potion, except it affects anyone that inhales the scent and it’s illegal for a reason. Some people have died from _exhaustion_.”

Mark eyes the candle, wary. “If you lighted it up right now...”

“Exactly.” Yukhei nods, scarily amused by the thought. Mark understands why one second later, however, because he pats Mark’s hip and consoles him with a, “So if you ever admit that you’re not over Donghyuck but are too embarrassed to go for it, you know what to do.”

The insinuation just drives Jaehyun to snicker so loudly that he has to bend down for a second. Mark has always hated that this is an open secret, to the point his friends can torture him out of joy. It’s a lack of respect that goes only one way.

“Screw off, Wong,” Mark grumbles at Yukhei. Taking pity on him, Yukhei gives Jaehyun the candle and slips his hands into his gloves again, disposed to continue the treatment. Mark slaps his hands away, however, too rancorous to let Yukhei take care of him after mocking him. “I don’t know how I’m going to handle this weekend.”

His stress must be evident, because Jaehyun nearly pushes him to sit on the couch. Mark is glad to follow, not only because he’s tired, but because he has the prospect of spending the whole weekend working with Donghyuck. Considering how simple their case is, even if they suspect there’s more behind the scenes, it’s still very revealing that they’re working extra hours right at the beginning of their careers.

“The Auror department gave you permission to go?” Jaehyun asks, interested. He sits next to Mark, rubs his finger over Mark’s shoulder to check if the ointment has finally stuck to his skin, and then whines, “Imagine getting paid to attend a party at the White Wyvern.”

Jaehyun can’t be blamed for being curious about the dark places of the wizard world, but Mark isn’t attending a party to have fun. In fact, investigating among the type of customers that frequent the White Wyvern should be the antonym of fun; plus the _innocuous _little fact that Donghyuck ignores the concept of prudence.

Rolling his eyes, Mark reminds him, “It’s dangerous, Jaehyun.”

In theory, that should quieten his friend, but Jaehyun sends him a serious, significant glance.

“So is Lee Donghyuck,” he says, and he’s not trying to pick on him now, not trying to humiliate him. He’s stating the irrefutable truth. “But you don’t want to get away from him.”

On Saturday, Mark discovers that it’s not Donghyuck’s first time going to a party at the White Wyvern.

Their meeting point is the Leaky Cauldron, from where they’ll walk all the way to the pub. But when Mark arrives, he realizes that it’s not going to be an easy night: Donghyuck shines like a blinding light in a dark sea, guiding everyone towards him, making boats crash and sink. He’s sipping on a Butterbeer, alone by a table in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron, a choice that Mark suspects it was deliberate and full of intent: every wizard and witch around him observe him from time to time, and some of them can’t take their eyes off him.

Mark understands the sentiment. Donghyuck’s unnatural shade of blonde gathers enough attention itself, but tonight Donghyuck has done his best to look beyond alluring and fatal. His usual robes have been replaced by a red, silky tunic; he’s wearing shorts, just over his knee, but showing enough of his thighs to give Mark a heart attack, and his shirt is tightly pressed against his figure, marking every curve and angle stand out.

Donghyuck snaps his head up as Mark approaches him, brown eyes cutting through him, and Mark tries to remember how to breathe. The apparent good mood Donghyuck is in vanishes upon Mark’s presence, an air of disapproval taking over.

“I knew it,” Donghyuck tells him, getting up from his seat. No greetings, no formalities, just the old Lee Donghyuck picking on him right away. “You’re so boring.”

Mark deems his clothes very fitting for a party that will be full of Dark wizards, so he doesn’t flinch at Donghyuck’s words. “I thought we intended to go unnoticed, Veela.”

“I couldn’t do that even if I tried,” Donghyuck merrily replies.

Unlike the last time, Donghyuck offers his hand with a drop of hesitation. Mark doesn’t validate his worry – that Mark will hurt if they touch each other – and entangles their fingers, ignoring the tingling vibration that whips through the scar. He has taken a double dose of the meds Yukhei gave him, so tonight he will be able to bear Donghyuck’s touches for a long while.

During the walk to the White Wyvern, Mark convinces himself that the thrill he’s experiencing isn’t due to Donghyuck. It’s their first official mission outside work hours, the kind of field work that should be characteristic of Aurors. Mark knows for a fact that other Aurors, like Doyoung and Jeno, have been following this protocol for a few weeks now. Donghyuck and he are finally catching up, so it’s exciting. It brings back the adrenaline Mark’s body created when he was passing his Auror tests. It’s not because of Donghyuck. It’s definitely not because of him.

Much to Mark’s surprise, the Knockturn Alley is full of life at night, way more packed then during the day. It helps them to mingle with the crowd, and Donghyuck tries to make him laugh a few times, claiming that no couple would be so embittered on their way to a party. Laughing doesn’t relax Mark, for he’s laughing at Donghyuck’s jokes, and that’s not something he’s familiar with. He’s comfortable nonetheless, perhaps because of the amount of drugs he took, perhaps because Donghyuck never makes a big deal out of anything.

The entrance to the White Wyvern is empty, and Mark understands why when he sets his hand on the doorknob. Donghyuck could have warned him of what was going to happen, but he didn’t, and Mark just has to glance at him to find out that he kept quiet on purpose. Mark gasps when the knob transforms into a hand, so hard and cold that Mark fears for his own limb, and grips Mark’s hand with no mercy.

“What-” Mark begins with a pant.

Next to him, Donghyuck giggles and whispers, “The password, Lee.”

That’s right. The password that was slipped into their package along the candles.

“Forget-Me-Never,” Mark says, loud and clear.

The hand retreats into itself, returning to the shape of a normal, innocent knob again, and the door opens with a click. The contrast is quite shocking: the walls must have a enchant on them, because the noise coming from the small crack shouldn’t have been muffled just by a closed door.

Donghyuck jabs his elbow into his ribs, and when Mark is about to protest, he faces the biggest smile he has seen on Donghyuck.

“Welcome to paradise,” Donghyuck says, pushing the door open.

If it’s sarcasm, Mark doesn’t notice. Donghyuck looks happy of dragging him into the darkest part of the Wizard world, but it makes sense after all: both of them have trained to be involved in it, and after suffering the war when they were just twelve and eleven, it has become their natural territory. They’re carved for it.

The number one rule is not to make eye contact with the kind of wizards and creatures that attend the party. One misinterpreted glance and their whole façade and possibilities will go to waste; besides, some present a danger even to well prepared wizards like them. For starters, there is a couple of werewolves sitting by one of the first tables Mark glances at.

Donghyuck leads him in the crowd, and Mark clings onto his fingers without an ounce of shame; he might feel that later, however. Swimming like a fish in the sea, Donghyuck finds the right persons to get them a private table, and they end up on a soft sofa placed against the wall, where the view is marvelous. They’re not going to stay there the whole night, but they need to assess the situation first.

Mark accommodates on the sofa while Donghyuck leaves to get them some drinks; they can’t drink too much, but not consuming anything would be a red flag. He watches Donghyuck walk through the bar, every single person turning around to ogle him, and he can’t help but roll his eyes. Once Donghyuck is out of sight, Mark has the chance to analyze the customers, always avoiding to get caught.

Even though all of them have the right traits to be smugglers, Mark focuses on the younger ones. Yukhei has given him a few descriptions of who sells the Euphoria Elixir, but if there’s a whole net of boys trafficking, Mark doesn’t trust that he’ll run into the same boys Yukhei often contacts.

“For you, sweetheart,” Donghyuck tells him when he comes back, two huge glasses of what seems to be Firewhiskey in his hands.

He slips on the seat and, to Mark’s disgrace, over him: he shifts on the sofa to throw a leg over Mark’s thigh, and drapes himself on his side, hugging Mark as he takes a shot of his whiskey. There are too many distractions for Mark to ponder about what his life has come to: amidst his first mission as an Auror, being groped by a guy that he wouldn't have hesitated to punch at Hogwarts, and surrounded by wizards that indirectly contributed to all the pain he felt as a kid.

Mark shoots Donghyuck an exasperated look, “Are you going to behave like this all night?”

The answer comes in the form of Donghyuck loosely wrapping one arm around his neck to reach the back of his head; his other hand caresses down Mark's cheek, bringing their faces so close that anyone else will assume they're kissing. Mark is grateful for the drugs, because with their bodies against each other, if he wasn't sedated, Donghyuck could sense his heart speeding up.

But Donghyuck doesn't kiss him, just lightly presses on Mark's skin, like playing a game. They've talked that pretending to be a couple implies certain _activities_, but they won't cross some limits unless it's completely necessary for their security. Kissing is the only thing Mark has forbidden, but now that Donghyuck looks into his eyes, hands on him and the hypnotizing gaze of a Veela boring into his soul, he learns that he should have forbidden this too.

“You never know who could be watching or listening,” Donghyuck excuses himself. For sure, with that insistence of his, they'll fool anyone. “Anything interesting?”

Mark responds to Donghyuck's touch, strokes Donghyuck's hair starting from his nape and travelling up to the crown of his head. He has never felt Donghyuck up this way, and his whole forearms raises with goosebumps.

“A few guys,” he manages to croak out. Donghyuck is distracting, too distracting, and he smells so _good_. Mark gulps down and asks, “How are we going to do this?”

Donghyuck hums, “You think, I act.” He taps his fingertips down Mark's jaw, and Mark blinks down at him, fighting against the daze that seeps into him. Yet Donghyuck detects the weird, ephemeral confusion on his face, and he narrows his eyes at him. “Lee, how high are you?”

Donghyuck doesn't ask _if_ he's high. He's aware that Mark is under the effect of drugs, and he wonders when Donghyuck realized and why he didn't scold him earlier.

Not in the mood to expose himself, Mark grunts, “I'm fine.”

The negative is what prompts Donghyuck not to have any mercy on him. And again, it isn't beneficial for Mark to make a half-Veela angry, and less in this situation, so he holds Donghyuck by the hips when he snarls at him, trying to get out of his grasp. They can’t blow their cover.

“Is this your solution to be with me?” Donghyuck whisper shouts; his pupils dilate in red, and Mark shushes him like he would do to a dog. He has never been good with animals, and Donghyuck is the most dangerous animal in his life. “Getting completely high so that touching me doesn’t hurt?”

Putting it like that, it sounds pretty insane. There are healthier ways to cope with the problem, and yet those are options that make Mark feel like he's kneeling down for a favor.

“Donghyuck, breathe,” Mark warns him, trying not to lose his composure too. The most logical part of Donghyuck follows that advice, but Mark can see the internal fight inside him: the Auror, the Veela and the human. “I told you I wouldn't accept your help, and you agreed to it. So up to now, yes, that’s my plan.”

His eyes are still red, and Mark carefully leads Donghyuck's head against the crook of his neck. The contact is too intense, too direct, and he can feel it on every inch of his scar. It calms Donghyuck down, however, whose Veela transition stops and gradually regresses.

“In a drug trafficking mission with a stoned cop,” Donghyuck mumbles against his neck. His breathing comes out in bursts, but they're softer every time, and Mark keeps him close, fearing that someone will know what Donghyuck is going through. “For Merlin. _Alright_.”

“Your Veela temper,” Mark muses. The worst of the tempers. Nothing like a Veela temper to destroy the whole world. “Perhaps you should have gotten high too.”

Donghyuck detaches from him, and Mark has to contain his laughter when he recognizes the horrified incredulity on his face.

“I can't believe you've just said that,” he grumbles, because for once, it's Mark who isn't taking this with enough seriousness.

Mark ignores the hidden statement in Donghyuck's words. It's not just the drugs, but Donghyuck is still unaware, like a child learning a new alphabet. Mark's conduct isn't different, he _is_ different, and though he'll always chase the good side, the light, he's not afraid of being embroiled in the darkness.

“There are three main men standing in fixed spots,” Mark whispers to him, lifting Donghyuck up to whisper into his ear. That bravery _definitely_ comes from Yukhei's meds. “The one by the bar is passing a substance, but I can't tell what it is from here. There is a loner in the table near the bathroom, long beard, disgustingly expensive clothes. Same thing for him, it's a strategic place to sell before the customers go to the bathroom. Third one is by the stairs. He might be just selling aphrodisiacs to those who rented rooms, but we shouldn't discard him.”

Donghyuck moves away from, so slick and mischievous that anyone would think Mark has just proposed to play a game.

“I'm on it,” Donghyuck announces. His gaze remains locked with Mark's as he slides away on the sofa, as though he's memorizing him, and then he says farewell with a, “Eyes open, Lee.”

It's not a hard job for Mark, not when it comes to Donghyuck. He has spent years observing Donghyuck like there was no one else in the world, for better and for worse, and his eyes are perfectly adapted to following Donghyuck's figure everywhere. They're adapted to the curve of his back, to his perfectly toned thighs, to the way the air flickers through his blond hair, to his feline walk, always converting him into a predator that is about to jump on food.

And it still leaves him breathless, every inch of Donghyuck's face and body, every movement of his. When Donghyuck turns his head around to look at him, a smirk flashing on his face as he loses himself in the crowd, Mark realizes that he doesn't need to breathe to feel alive.

It's a torment.

Mark has been the witness to Donghyuck's Veela enchants countless times. When they attended Hogwarts, Donghyuck shamelessly used them on teachers, friends and older students to get what he wanted. It was natural for him, and he didn't see the gray morality of his own actions. Mark had always wondered why Donghyuck didn't stun him to get on his good side, why he took the difficult route with him, conscious that Mark wouldn't ever like him unless he was under a charm.

Donghyuck's enchant, however, turns out to greatly differ three years later. It's not cute, it's not innocent and soul-crushing. Instead, it's obscene, appallingly sexual, and it gets under Mark's skin like poison.

Mark feels his face flush for many reasons, and not only his face. He observes Donghyuck talk to the man by the bar first, enjoys how the other man looks at him starry-eyed just one minute into their conversation, but he can't help but look away when Donghyuck starts using his hands. They're light, casual touches, some of them subtle caresses, and Mark's self-control can't stand it. He has sensed on his own body how Donghyuck's hands feel, how his fingers can give anyone the false pretension of importance, and hates, absolutely hates that other man is experiencing that.

_It's just work_, Mark mutters to himself. Donghyuck doesn't want to fuck that man, doesn't even want to seduce him despite being great at it. And most important, Donghyuck touches Mark because of their partnership, not because he likes it, and he shouldn't be entitled to be the only one.

When Donghyuck hangs off of the man’s neck, Mark is close to interrupting them, to making a scene that will fit their role – because they’re together, and no one would let their Veela jump into another person’s arms. The thought that holds him back is that if Donghyuck is displaying his hardest weapons, it’s because the man has given him enough information for him to risk his neck. Mark supposes that he has to be relieved that the man is young, because he would definitely not bear with the image of Donghyuck fluttering his eyelashes at an old, nasty wizard.

Mark’s beliefs retain his impulsiveness, until it gets worse.

The man sets his hands in places that are _sacred_, and while Donghyuck is seemingly calm, Mark writhes on his seat. This serves as a lesson, because Mark doesn’t want to let Donghyuck use the seducing technique ever again; there are other tactics that don’t involve such a thorny situation, and they might be slower, but Mark is going to enforce them next time. Perhaps it’s the Firewhiskey or the drugs, because Mark sees Donghyuck tug the man by his hand towards the stairs, laughing and blinking his sparkling eyes at him, and Mark’s heart stops functioning for an eternity.

Donghyuck is out of his mind. It’s not a possibility, not a question: he’s insane if he deems responsible to take a man upstairs, to a private room, just for the sake of their mission. Mark stays frozen on his seat for a couple of minutes, not believing what’s happening, not knowing how to act. Donghyuck isn’t a kid, he’s an Auror. Yet that doesn’t mean that he can’t make mistakes, and well, his idea might work out, but the man is a criminal, and Mark can’t abandon his Auror partner with a criminal that could be either a simple smuggler or a high profile killer.

His panic makes him lose track of the time, but he soothes himself before leaping into action. He can’t work while he’s immersed in a cascade of emotions, and therefore he doesn’t get up until he has cooled off. By the time he’s striding towards the stairs, he has forgotten the mission, and his only aim is to make sure that Donghyuck is fine; he’s also forgotten that he’s at the White Wyvern, not at some local bar with kind wizards.

It’s a hard palm what brings him back to reality. The suspect Mark had checked out earlier blocks him the entrance to the stairs, a hand three times bigger than his on his chest. And yet, with Donghyuck in mind, Mark isn’t intimidated by the wizard scowling down at him like he’s a worm.

“Mate, did you rent a room?” he accuses him.

Mark has spent half of his time at the White Wyvern observing wizards and witches and other creatures walking upstairs without anyone demanding for proof of their reservation, so he knows that the man is stopping him because he wishes to, not because he _has_ to.

“I’m getting some,” Mark croaks out. “How much?”

He doesn’t need to be explicit about what he’s buying, and that small sign of knowledge is what the wizard needs to accept that Mark doesn’t pose an actual danger. If Mark knows that he traffics, he must be part of the chain.

The wizard lifts his eyebrows at him, skeptical regardless. “Thirty galleons.”

He’s raising the price for him, because he doesn’t trust Mark. Mark might not be an expert at the drug market, but he knows that thirty galleons for a minimal dose of _whatever_ is a scam. Unless they’re selling Unicorn Blood. He doesn’t care, however, so he pulls the money out of his pocket, more than Thirty Galleons, and splashes them on the wizard’s hand.

The wizard openly laughs at him, eyes shifting between the money and Mark’s determined face. “Is it because of the Veela?” he guesses, too smart for Mark to fool him. But he does buy Mark’s role of a poor, whipped soul, because he pats his back and says, “I’m not covering you if you make a mess, mate.”

And then Mark has a free path ahead. As he runs up the stairs, he wonders if the wizard was talking about sex or just about murder when he used the word _mess_, and he makes a mental note to look into that too at some point.

After spending all that money in a mere entrance, Mark doesn’t have any repairs in opening every door open, either using his wand or his feet. He gets a few couples yelping at the interruption, but there are no apologies on his tongue, just doors shut close with so much strength that it echoes all through the hall.

Until he kicks the right door open, and the world narrows around him and asphyxiates him. Donghyuck is on the wizard’s lap, cozy on the bed, and he snaps his head towards Mark like a deer caught in headlights.

Mark’s blood _boils_.

“You have to be kidding me,” Donghyuck whines, a reproach that Mark can’t understand right then. If all of this is Donghyuck’s doing, then he’s unhinged, and Mark has a limit. Despite the confusion that expands on the wizard’s face, accompanied by the spark or rage, Donghyuck just glares at Mark and adds, “You’re an idiot.”

His opinion has never prevented Mark from believing in his own decisions, so Mark doesn’t vacillate as he lifts his wand, straight to the man’s forehead.

Donghyuck might have provoked and accepted this, but those hands on his ass aren’t something Mark is going to overlook, so he threatens, “Touch that Veela again and you’re dead.”

Mark is expecting the counter-attack, but he never gets to battle the wizard: Donghyuck is faster than both of them, wiping his wand out of his pocket and screaming, “_Stupefy_!”

While the wizard was ready to fight Mark, he didn’t suspect that the boy on his lap wouldn’t be on his side, and therefore he falls back on the bed like a dead weight. Donghyuck rolls out of his lap, and then he frenetically searches through the wizard’s clothes, every pocket of his garments, a few _Accio_ and a couple of _Revelio_ charms to finish the task. Just seconds later, he has his hands full of objects, and Mark doesn’t know what to say: not only they attacked the suspect, but they’re also illegally robbing him.

“Lee,” Donghyuck calls him, climbing out of the bed with a lack of grace that isn’t proper of him. He has half of the buttons of his shirt undone, and that just pushes Mark further into his own indignation. Donghyuck isn’t in a better mood than him, though, because he spits, “I’m going to murder you.”

That’s not what he does, but he grabs Mark by the hair – ignoring the gasp of surprise that he emits – and Apparates out of the Knockturn Alley. He Apparates first in an unknown, random street of London to avoid being tracked down, and then he Apparates a second time to home.

It’s only then, when Mark sees himself trapped in Donghyuck’s home and his Veela powers out of control, that he’s aware of how much he has fucked up this time.

During all their years at Hogwarts, they never screamed at each other.

Back then Mark used to think that it was because of the war. Hogwarts students had learned to be silent, not to speak out loud, not to cause trouble if they didn't want to be hauled into a room and pay for it. But they had maintained that habit once the war was over, and Mark didn't know why.

They fought often, and their arguments weren't mild or simple, but they never shouted. They never enchanted each other either. It was about hushed insults and private arguments, and contrary to what their ways hinted at, they were beyond cruel with each other. Pain didn't have to be deafening to be destructive: it could be a whisper, silence or the distance between two people.

But for the first time, they do scream tonight. As soon as they land at Donghyuck's house, their rage and frustration gets the best of them. They're two noobs in a difficult, dangerous job, with too many feelings involved even though that's the most disadvantageous aspect they could throw in, and they only can blame each other.

Mark doesn't stop to consider that it's past midnight and that Donghyuck doesn't live alone. He grabs Donghyuck by his tunic and pulls him closer, yelling, “What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

Donghyuck breaks contact by hitting Mark's hand and undoing the grasp on his tunic, equally violent. “You blew up the mission,” he laughs, and it's not happy, just purely mad. “You fucking blew it!”

Not believing what he's hearing, Mark laughs along. He's exhausted from all the tension, and the last thing he wants to do is to explain why Donghyuck shouldn't put himself in danger like he did tonight; or to explain why he cares about that in the first place.

“What mission?” he asks. He allows disgust to surge on his expression, though he isn't sure if it's because of what he saw, or because he's aware of how he's going to sound. “You were going to let that disgusting prick fuck you just for information?”

“I’m not stupid.” Donghyuck shoves him away, and for a split second, his pupils sparkle red. He restrains his anger better than hours ago, but that doesn't mean he's not as infuriated, or that he doesn't understand the insult in Mark's question. “I don’t need your protection. I was doing what I had to do, and for Merlin’s sake, I can _control _men.”

Mark scoffs, “You sure about that?”

_You can't control me_, is what Mark is saying. Donghyuck's will to fight transforms into a different emotion, and he deflates at the change of topic.

It's never about their job, and it will never be. It's always personal. If Donghyuck could manipulate all men, Mark would have forgiven him long ago; perhaps he's the only one who has practiced against his charms, or perhaps Donghyuck has never forced his powers on him.

Mark's mocking question brings silence first, and then the cloud of fury around Donghyuck subside. He looks up at the ceiling of his own living room, bites on his lower lip as if he's trying not to smile, and then stares into Mark's eyes with a newfound confidence.

“I can’t believe you, Lee,” he answers. He shakes his head, but he inspects Mark's reaction with curiosity, too much security, and a shadow of haughtiness. “You’re jealous. _Possessive_ over me.”

That's the worst outcome this conversation could have, and it blows Mark in his stomach with full force. He isn't capable of denying it to himself, because what he felt at the White Wyvern wasn't just the urge of protecting his partner, and the images of that wizard enjoying every curve of Donghyuck's body flash beneath his eyelids, once and again, not letting him forget.

But Donghyuck doesn't belong to him, and Mark will never want that for them, so he replies, “That’s bullshit.”

Donghyuck's smile expands at his obvious lie, at his lack of strength.

“If you want to be jealous, you should put your hands on me first,” he says, chin up. His lips are red, swollen, and Mark burns at the mere thought that it's because of another wizard's kisses. It makes him sick to his stomach. “At least other men aren’t afraid to show that they want me, Lee.”

Again, Donghyuck isn't looking for a confession. He thinks Mark is afraid to reveal his inner impulses, but he's certain that they're there. There's nothing more primal, basic and sinful that wanting to bury himself between Donghyuck's legs. And Mark hates to think that he's not better than other men, than he's dying to fuck Donghyuck because he's a magnet, but there are truths that remain true even when denied.

“Screw off,” is the only words Mark can utter, too shocked to hurt Donghyuck back.

It’s evident that Donghyuck has the lead, and that he’s going to take advantage of that, but when he adopts an air of superiority, a thump on the second floor jerks both of them out of the fight.

“I think we woke Renjun up,” Donghyuck says, talking to himself rather than to Mark.

Considering the noise coming from upstairs, they did. Mark isn’t in the mental state to face Renjun again, however. Donghyuck has given him enough to worry about, and he can’t use his wit against any of them; besides, Renjun might not be as welcoming after being woken up in the middle of the night.

Mark reaches for Donghyuck’s shoulder, a soft touch to draw him in. Whether it’s a consequence of the mission or his own powers, Donghyuck is in a daze, and he looks surprised to see Mark still standing there.

“We should talk tomorrow,” Mark proposes. Because this feud between them can’t stay untouched, growing bigger until it destroys them, and they’ve ignored a few important conversations that were vital for their partnership. “Once we've calmed down.”

Very slowly, Donghyuck looks into his eyes. He strokes Mark’s hand on his shoulder, a subtle way to remove the grasp on him, and concedes him, “Go home, Lee.”

Mark sleeps little, but his night is full of nightmares.

He dreams about Donghyuck. He dreams about Donghyuck walking into the Great Hall. He dreams about being chained in the Potions classroom, Donghyuck’s brother hovering over him. He dreams about the kiss in the passage behind the mirror on the fourth floor, about Donghyuck’s soft lips on his and an ephemeral sensation of peace, a peace Mark never felt again. He stays awake after that, still on bed and wishing he could erase both his memories and his feelings. Wishing both Donghyuck and he could have taken different decisions.

Donghyuck Apparates into his house when he’s preparing breakfast, and though his dark circles are prominent and his hair isn’t properly brushed, every other detail of his appearance has been carefully crafted. The daylight brings logic back for him, but not for Mark, and that’s pretty evident when Donghyuck starts throwing objects on the kitchen table.

“Morning, Lee,” he greets, the ghost of a smile before drifting to complete seriousness and a dark hint of excitement. “I’ve spent the night analyzing all the objects the smuggler was carrying.”

With the wave of his wand, Mark extinguishes the fire beneath the pot, his appetite dying.

“Wait,” he warns Donghyuck, who instead of listening to him, empties the whole bag of objects by reversing it on the table. “Wait. We have to talk.”

Donghyuck glowers. “We don’t have to.” He picks up a small bottle from the table and passes it to Mark, who has to accept it unless he wants it to fall to the floor. Donghyuck sing-songs, “Euphoria Elixir.”

That’s the reason Donghyuck isn’t interested in discussing their problems anymore. His Auror instinct is a priority: he has found proof that they’re on the right path, and his personal issues with Mark have been pushed to the background.

But not for Mark. He sets the Euphoria Elixir on the table, not even taking a look at it to inspect it. He’s sure that Donghyuck can recognize the substance, so they don’t need a second opinion; what they need is to talk.

“Donghyuck, I don’t want you to be that sort of Undercover Agent,” Mark begins. Donghyuck sighs at his words, shoulders deflating in resignation. He must have expected Mark to be swayed by the news, but Mark doesn’t fall for cheap tricks so easily. He searches for a shadow of attention in Donghyuck’s eyes. “I don’t give a fuck if it’s the fastest way. We’ll do this the hard way, then, but I swear next time I’ll hex any man that touches you.”

It’s not Mark’s intention to be so sincere. He should have rehearsed what he wanted to convey, the conclusion he had reached last night as his mind twirled around Donghyuck in dreams: that he wanted to possess Donghyuck, in good ways and not so good ways – not given their past. If he hadn’t been exhausted from his own emotions, he would have been more sensitive, less incriminating. He would have come up with a lie, even, but it’s too late for that.

Donghyuck’s lips part in surprise. The emotion doesn’t reach his semblance, as if he’s stuck in time, as if he can’t comprehend what Mark has said. Mark can’t comprehend it either.

And then, with a wary whisper, he asks, “Have you gone crazy?”

That’s an understatement. He has a scar that occupies half of his body because of Donghyuck and yet he’s disposed to jump over rules and protocols to protect him.

“Maybe I have,” Mark admits.

For once, it’s Donghyuck who lowers his head and avoids his gaze. Even though he’s undoubtedly used to men saying and doing absurd things for him, Mark has always been the exception. The fact that he’s surrendering at last must place an added guilt on his shoulders.

“I didn’t plan to go with that man to the room, but-” Donghyuck explains. He shakes his head, as to erase the memories from last night, and grabs the closest seat. The chair croaks under his weight, and Mark imitates him, sitting next to him instead of across the table. “He mentioned my brother. He knew my brother, and I already had all the information I needed about our case, but he-”

Donghyuck doesn’t lift his head, and when he stops, he does it altogether, like he doesn’t plan to go on. It’s because he’s telling the story to himself, to justify his actions, and not because Mark is listening.

But Mark is smarter than just consoling Donghyuck. All the words exchanged last night are gold, and it’s his duty to decipher them. He isn’t going to judge Donghyuck for an act as humanlike as believing a wizard talking about a loved one.

Mark settles his hand on Donghyuck’s knee, both to soothe him and to regain his focus. “What do you mean he _mentioned_ your brother?”

And then, Donghyuck offers him the most horrible outcome.

“He talked about him like he was alive,” he confesses, voice so small that Mark has to lean to hear him. Everything falls into place with a crash. That’s why he decided to take the man upstairs. He’d have done anything for his family, for a ray of hope, even if it was just a lie. “Said that he had expected me to come sooner or later.”

Trying to contain the hurtful truth, Mark bites onto his lower lip until he tastes blood. His logical self wants to scream at Donghyuck. Maybe the man had met his brother years ago, but he’d have told Donghyuck all the sweet lies of the world just to open his legs. They weren’t dealing with mere, normal wizards, but criminals accustomed to manipulate and fool people.

His emotional self, however, forces him to take pity on Donghyuck’s weaknesses. Maybe one day the tables will turn around, and Donghyuck will be the one having mercy on him.

“Donghyuck,” Mark calls him, like he’d call someone if he didn’t want to be heard. “Why would you want to find your brother?”

No one should want to find a monster, unless it’s to destroy them. And Donghyuck would never harm his own brother, that lesson was pretty much engraved in Mark’s body. After such a long time, Mark couldn’t imagine the dilemma Donghyuck had been in, and from his own perspective he still judged Donghyuck for not siding with him. Perhaps both of them would be dead now, but Mark preferred to die with honor than to live with guilt.

“You don’t understand,” Donghyuck retorts, voice hoarse, like the question is an insult. He’s right: Mark doesn’t understand, but he’s trying to. Donghyuck keeps his head down as he continues, “My brother did terrible things, and yet he was still my brother. I never stopped hoping that there was some good in him.”

“It wasn’t hope,” Mark contradicts him. “It was just a childish, naïve thought.”

Donghyuck lifts his head to glare at him, bothered by the interruption and by the insinuation in his words. He doesn’t want Mark to remind him what he did wrong or what he did right. That trial doesn’t belong to him.

“And amidst the war, he protected me,” Donghyuck says, defying Mark to deny that as well. “He didn’t have to ask to know that I didn’t support the Death Eaters, that I didn’t want to be one. They wanted me _so bad_ because our Veela blood was valuable, they were already trying to recruit me before I entered Hogwarts. My brother always kept me away from it, convinced everyone that I was too young, that I was a terrible wizard anyhow.”

Mark didn’t know that.

Just like everyone else, Donghyuck wasn’t allowed to express any idea against the regimen, but Mark had assumed that he agreed with it. His brother was involved, after all, and even if Donghyuck didn’t actively participate in the tortures and punishments, his silence granted permission. It wouldn’t have matter if he had protested, however, but Mark would have known that he supported them. He had benefited from his silence and from his brother’s power, and looking at the past, Mark wonders if he really had a choice.

Mark had a choice, but if another person’s life had been on the line because of his actions – his brother’s, like in Donghyuck’s case, or his parents’ – he wouldn’t have risked so much.

“Why do you think he’s dead?” Mark asks, aware that Donghyuck opened up but doesn’t want him to dig further. “No one ever found his body.”

Donghyuck isn’t surprised at the question. Mark might have not been the first one to throw that doubt at him.

“Many Aurors used old, forbidden Dark Arts, and my brother wasn’t the only Death Eater that disappeared that way.” Donghyuck’s gaze distractedly inspects something behind Mark, as though he’s realizing for the first time where he is. He’s an Auror now, too, and they don’t have permission to use Dark Magic, for the war is long done – not gone, because the remainders of a war last for decades. “I know how it sounds, but my family would have lived better if we could have given him a funeral. My brother was a disgrace for us, but after his death my mom went crazy. I was sent to living with my uncle because my mom got hospitalized.”

“Donghyuck-” Mark starts, an overwhelming sensation of responsibility dwelling on him. The way Donghyuck speaks allows Mark to know that he hasn’t shared this story with many people. Perhaps with Renjun, Jaemin or Jeno, but no one apart from them. Mark doesn’t remember when he stopped calling him Veela and using his real name, but Donghyuck is unfazed. “My scar still hurts.”

Mark doesn’t know why he says that. Judging the incredulous look Donghyuck grants him, he doesn’t either. His eyes remind him that Mark shouldn’t want Donghyuck’s brother to be alive. That he shouldn’t prioritize Donghyuck’s feelings over the security of every other wizard. But Mark has already spoken, and his debility has bloomed in the open with just a few words.

“That doesn’t mean he’s alive.” Donghyuck presses his lips into a line, and Mark’s attention shifts to his mouth, even though Donghyuck has repressed every single aspect of his Veela enchants to have this conversation. He looks like a regular boy, and Mark realizes, in horror, that he still wants to kiss him despite that. “He didn’t die a regular death, so there’s still a trace of his powers behind. It hurts less and less, right?”

Donghyuck’s touch lands on his arm, signaling to the beginning of his scar. Mark hasn’t taken his meds yet today, so the gesture burns him from head to toe, makes his tattoo writhe around like a crazy animal. But Mark doesn’t push Donghyuck away; he bears with the pain, thinks that yes, he’s right: his scar hurts less since the war, but the progress has been so slow that Mark was barely conscious of it. It was like growing up. He saw himself on the mirror every day, and he didn’t notice the changes.

It’s Donghyuck who is reviving a pain that was agonizing.

“Lee Mark,” Donghyuck whispers. His tone is different, sweet, and Mark finds the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. “With an illegal tattoo.”

It’s funny that it still amuses Donghyuck. Mark supposes that if Donghyuck had converted into a pacific, submissive person, he’d have been just as shocked.

Mark revels in Donghyuck’s touch for a second before his defensiveness can emerge. “Why is it so easy for you?” he reproaches. He’s always behind Donghyuck, never ahead of him. It could be that it’s because, ironically, Donghyuck is a better person than him, or more resilient, not so destroyed by the way. “Are you telling me that you’ve forgiven me for the things I’ve done to you?”

Donghyuck fingers stroke over his forearm, like he intends to remind him that no matter what Mark did to him, no matter which humiliating words he threw at him, Donghyuck provoked something much worse in his life. Something that hasn’t disappeared yet.

And one second later, Donghyuck locks eyes with him, and in a burst of evident, sudden honesty, he says, “I forgave you the day you kissed me, Lee.”

It’s a low kick in his stomach. Mark knows those are venomous words, because both of them have been ignoring that for a reason.

So Mark’s instinct is to fight, “I abandoned you the day after that.”

Donghyuck stares at him, like prompting him to continue. He’s not expecting an apology, even though deep within, Mark regrets it. They could have had it all, and he ruined it.

“You had so many reasons to hurt me, all of them accumulated over the years, all of them justified, so yes, it made sense that you ran away afterwards. But you kissed me,” Donghyuck insists. His hand drops to Mark’s abdomen, a caress that travels from his torso to the hem of his pants, and then to his thighs; his gaze remains fixed on Mark’s face, however. “Why did you kiss me?”

Because his life spun around Lee Donghyuck. Because he had always wanted to taste the curve of his lips, the sound of his laugh or the warmth of hips, because Donghyuck had wished to be loved by everyone, and Mark would have given him everything, and at the same time, nothing. Because Mark played with the idea of breaking his heart, a heart that he believed was cold and made of stone. Because damn, Mark had wanted to kiss him, and that was final.

“I was young,” is all Mark can utter. And that’s true, too.

“No so young by then,” Donghyuck teases him. “Nineteen.”

Nineteen, after eight turbulent years that had culminated in Donghyuck’s mouth. He doesn’t have an excuse.

Mark licks his lips, trying to gain some time. Donghyuck’s eyes pierce through him with want, with a promise that Mark doesn’t understand, and it’s hard to give the right answer when Mark can’t read through him. “You were so pretty, even when you were sad, and I thought that maybe if I kissed you, I could finally hate you in peace.”

Donghyuck catches his breath, the only sign of surprise that betrays him. “Did it work?”

“It didn’t,” Mark whispers. His heart speeds up. Kissing Donghyuck was a mistake, because then they left Hogwarts and Mark never contacted him again; he had no way to do so, and that had saved him from following him into the rabbit hole. “Hating you still torments me.”

Donghyuck holds onto him, moving with so much wariness and smoothness that Mark doesn’t realize what’s happening until Donghyuck’s face is inches away from his. They fit naturally, Mark’s arms around him, keeping him close, and Donghyuck’s hands intertwined behind his nape. Mark doesn’t feel the pain anymore, even if it’s still there. Their foreheads touch, and Mark breathes Donghyuck’s air, observes his eyelashes flutter before he closes his eyes. He’s so pretty, Mark never had a choice. He would have fallen for him had he not been half-Veela, too.

“You look so tired, so lonely,” Donghyuck murmurs. And he doesn’t have to specify for Mark to comprehend that Donghyuck concluded that long ago, in his first visit. It’s in Mark's demeanor, in the longing in his eyes, in his own home, in the odd atmosphere around them. Mark isn’t lonely per se, he’s lonely because he doesn’t have the only person that ever completed him. “I’m tired of this too.”

This time, Mark won't be able to run away and hide. All his actions will have an impact in their lives; he won't be able to look back, to forget, because Donghyuck's existence will constantly scratch the surface of his feelings.

And yet, Mark doesn't care. It can't be called impulsive when he has waited for more than ten years to have Donghyuck in his arms. He has spent the last three years thinking about their kiss – keeping it a secret – and it's beyond pathetic. Perhaps it won't work out, because they're _them_ after all, but Mark is ready to take the risk even if it pulverizes him.

When he cups Donghyuck's face with one hand, his fingers are trembling. It's just Donghyuck and him, all over again, and Mark's mouth molds against Donghyuck's lips like they were never apart.

All emotions pour on Mark at once. Donghyuck is breathless, just as breathless as Mark is, but his lips are slick and warm, and they feel so fragile between Mark's lips that he fears this will break him. It already broke him once. So Mark kisses him like he has always wanted to: like Donghyuck belongs to him, and like he belongs to Donghyuck back. He tastes every inch of his mouth, licks and bites and presses sweet kisses against his lips, and Donghyuck opens for him every time, fights his own battle just to let Mark win today. Mark doesn't dare to do much beyond kissing him, beyond holding Donghyuck's frame against him, afraid that Donghyuck will be conscious at last and pull away. That he will tell Mark that this insane, because it is, and Mark will stay alone at home, realizing that he was never meant to be in Donghyuck's life.

But that never happens. Donghyuck grasps onto his shoulders with too much force, draws patterns with his nails on Mark's hair, and melts in the kiss once and again, a sigh falling from his lips every time Mark gives him space to breathe.

They don't kiss like adults. They kiss each other like they're kids all over again, on the edge of their youth, and they never hurt each other.

There are many factors that don't allow Mark to focus.

He spends the whole day and night with Donghyuck, though they don't kiss many times after the first time. Donghyuck has done a great job at analyzing the objects the smuggler had in his pockets, but when Mark looks at him, he just wants to touch him again, forget about the mission and their careers for a few more hours.

Donghyuck doesn't indulge him, perhaps because he has learned to control men that are swayed by him, or perhaps because this whole experience is too new for him as well.

Among the smuggler's stash, there are proofs that are pure gold. The Euphoria Elixir, for starters, but they also recognize a necklace with a metallic plate that hides a double depth. It takes them a while to figure out what it is, until they manage to read the tiny numbers on the inner part of the plate: it's a form of communication. The numbers change from time to time, which means other wizards own other necklaces and are writing numbers on their own plates to talk to each other.

It's nerve-wracking to have half of their attention on a necklace during the whole day, but Donghyuck makes sure he writes every little change that appears on the plate. There has to be a pattern, and though at first they suspect it's just coordinates, it's evident that it looks more like some sort of private language. Neither of them is knowledgeable enough to decipher a secret code in a matter of days, so Mark proposes to send it to the Constructed Languages Department. It visibly bothers Donghyuck's pride, but they have enough in their hands.

When they have to part ways that night, just a few hours before they have to meet in the Auror Department, Mark thinks about telling Donghyuck to sleep with him. He doesn't have the courage to do so, however, and his solitude at least allows him to binge on the drugs Yukhei gave him.

Next morning, Mark learns that Donghyuck is incapable of keeping a secret.

Unlike numbers, it's easy to discover that Donghyuck has already shared the experience with his friends. Jeno looks at Mark across the Department every other minute of the day, sometimes with a mischievous, childish smile, and sometimes with naive curiosity. It flusters Mark at first, but after a couple of hours he just thinks Jeno is being ridiculous. Donghyuck is, too. His behavior hasn't changed a bit, not at the workplace, but every time he catches Mark and Jeno glancing at each other, he sends Mark a challenging glance, like daring him to protest. To mention what happened yesterday in such a _professional_ environment.

But Mark does: he's enough riled up to forget the shame, so when he checks that all the cubicles around them are empty, he leans towards Donghyuck and accuses, “You told him?”

Donghyuck wipes his head towards him with a smirk on his lips, “Told him what?”

Of course he did. And he doesn't regret it, considering how annoyed Mark must look.

Mark presses his index finger between his eyebrows, trying to calm down. “Did you tell Renjun and Jaemin too?”

There's a tiny possibility that Donghyuck didn't have time to talk to them, for Renjun should have been asleep when Donghyuck Apparated home, and Mark has no idea of how often Donghyuck and Jaemin contact each other.

But then, Donghyuck replies with a cheeky, “Renjun says you have to come for dinner next week.” He lifts his eyebrows at Mark's stunned expression. “Or he's personally Apparating in your house and defying you to a duel.”

Mark has to bite his tongue not to answer that Renjun would have no chance against him in a duel.

“That isn't funny,” he chews out instead. He looks around, coughs to conceal his discomfort, and whispers, “Isn't he your... _something_?”

It's a question he has been dying to shoot since he first saw Renjun – since he found out that Donghyuck was living with him. It had made him fear that they were serious about each other, but considering that Donghyuck kissed him last night, he supposes that they aren't. Mark knows that it's a consolation to stick to the friends that were there during the war, for no one else understands the struggle, and Donghyuck and Renjun obviously decided to stay there for each other – unlike Mark, who thought that living alone wouldn't be so difficult, just to prove himself wrong.

Donghyuck barely reacts at the question, but he looks into Mark's eyes when he says, “He's my friend, Lee.”

“He's not only your friend,” Mark retorts.

That makes Donghyuck roll his eyes at him. Mark doesn't intend to sound jealous, but it's almost impossible given the topic.

“You're wrong.” Donghyuck runs a hand through his blond hair, and Mark has to look away, aware that Donghyuck will try to convince him by alluring to his most primal nature. He's going to take revenge on that as soon as he can, for it's dirty that Donghyuck uses his Veela enchants to win an _argument_. “Having sexual intimacy with someone doesn't mean it's more than a friendship.”

He could be even more explicit, but that alone makes Mark pale. It acts on him as if Donghyuck had casted a petrifying charm on him, and Donghyuck chuckles at him, grips his knee to console him.

“What is bothering you so much?” Donghyuck asks him, a hint of worry sliding in his voice. He doesn't lie to him, because Donghyuck has many flaws in his perfect world, but he's not a liar. “Yes, I've only ever slept with Renjun. Is that going to be a problem?”

It'd be hypocritical for Mark to be hurt by it. Donghyuck has his own life, and it's not his fault that Mark rotated around him for so long that he couldn't fall for anyone else when they were in Hogwarts. Besides, Renjun is an important person for Donghyuck, and back then Mark had supposed that it was because both of them were equally despicable, but now he's grateful that Donghyuck had him during hard times.

Mark sighs, “It's not a problem, but it makes me feel like-”

Donghyuck interrupts him, and for once it's not to fight him, but to finish his sentence. “Like he's more important than you, because he has always been by my side, while you were in the opposite side.”

A flickering silence settles between them, so heavy that Mark can't breathe for a second.

“Well, _fuck_,” he concludes. Donghyuck isn't wrong.

Donghyuck doesn't drop the topic, however. He pulls his chair closer, too close, and Mark feels a few eyes fixed on them, but he pretends that they're discussing work issues and grabs one of his quills. Donghyuck eyes his quill in amusement, not commenting on his sad attempt.

“Who have you slept with?” he whispers, completely void of shame. Mark prays that no one can listen to them, that they're safe, because otherwise they're going to be called to Internal Investigations in a matter of minutes. Donghyuck detects the hesitation on his face, but that only sparks his curiosity further. “Come on, you know _mine_. You now know that I'm actually a prude.”

Mark scoffs, ignoring how Donghyuck's gaze shifts to offense. Donghyuck is definitely not a prude, no matter if he only slept with one person in his whole life. Mark vacillates, not because he's afraid that Donghyuck will be jealous – he has _nothing_ to be jealous of, to be honest – but because he's going to judge Mark's choices.

“Do you remember Ten? Three years ahead of me,” Mark begins, rapidly blinking to avoid focusing on Donghyuck's expression. “We started seeing each other when I finished school.”

It wasn't serious. Yukhei had been the nexus between them, and Mark had already had a couple of bed partners, but Ten had been the first one to become a constant. There wasn't love involved, but Ten had taught him a lot, and they had fucked for almost one year before Ten had gotten bored of him.

Mark didn't care that he got dumped. And he knows why.

“Are you fucking serious?” Donghyuck hisses, slapping a hand on Mark's thigh like he intends to hurt him. Like it's an insult to him, for some reason, and Mark doesn't understand why Donghyuck is so irritated until he adds, “You've been shagging a Slytherin?”

The heat that invades Mark's face is nothing compared to the color that tints the face of Auror that passes by them in that exact moment. Mark makes eye contact with him before turning to Donghyuck, absolutely embarrassed.

“Lower your tone,” he scolds him, useless words that Donghyuck is ready to disregard.

Donghyuck furrows his eyebrows at him, but there's not anger in his face. It's a small protest, a whine, and Mark's suspicions get confirmed one second later.

“Lee, that's so unfair,” Donghyuck accuses him. He unconsciously clings on Mark's robe, as to tug at him, as to shake him. “You've always been so prejudiced against Slytherin, against my friends and me, but you've been fucking one of us?”

Donghyuck says it like they're a _unit, _and that amuses Mark endlessly. Maybe Slytherin students had a secret code to follow that said, _hey, you can't touch that Gryffindor that is making my life impossible, not now, not ever._

Anyhow, Donghyuck’s shock makes Mark regain his confidence. He snickers behind his hand, eyes crinkled up at Donghyuck’s indignant expression, and taps under his chin to tease him.

“What is unfair, exactly?” Mark asks him. And then, losing the little control he has, he specifies, “That I didn't fuck you instead?”

Donghyuck doesn’t talk to him for the rest of the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let me fix it, please,” Donghyuck begs, nuzzling at his neck. “I'll never ask anything from you ever again.”  
Mark knows that it’s not true. When you feed an animal, they learn that they can get food from you.  
“You’ll ask many things, Veela,” Mark whispers into his ear. Donghyuck’s hands roam over his chest, and Mark doesn’t stop him, hoists him closer until he can feel Donghyuck’s heartbeat against his chest. The pain doesn’t matter anymore; touching Donghyuck drowns any other sensation, and Mark might go crazy because of it, his body might go crazy, but he won’t regret any step of the way. “And I’ll give them all to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last part :) just the epilogue after this!

“This isn't happening,” Yukhei mutters, looking at his own reflection on the mirror. “Why am I doing this?”

Mark had many doubts in his life, but there was one thing that was very clear in his mind: he wasn't going to have dinner with Lee Donghyuck, Huang Renjun, Na Jaemin and Lee Jeno alone. In fact, even if they removed half of them, Mark would never be willing to share a room with them. That's why he coerces Yukhei into accompanying him, claims that if all this was a long-time plan – three years long – of Donghyuck to kill him, they couldn't let him get away with it so easily.

However, he has to admit that the image of Yukhei and he fixing their tunics at home, right before Apparating into Donghyuck's house, is ridiculous at best.

“Because you're my best friend,” Mark reminds him.

Yukhei looks at him over his shoulder, a grin expanding on his face. “No, it’s because you're terrified of Renjun,” he corrects Mark, even though he hasn't mentioned anything about Renjun being twenty times more intimidating than he used to be.

“So are you,” Mark retorts. That's a bigger fault, for Yukhei's frame alone should be a factor reasonable enough not to fear someone as small as Renjun. Mark has more relevant issues to attend right now, anyway, so he irons his shirt and takes a deep breath. “This feels too real.”

“Too real for you, and way too fast for me.” Yukhei nods in agreement.

It was shocking for Yukhei as well to be told that: one, Mark had kissed Donghyuck, and two, that now he had to have dinner with his friends as though they were officially introducing him to Donghyuck's family. It wasn't just mere shock, for Yukhei was well aware of Mark's feelings no matter how much he had denied them for years, but how he hadn't pulled away afterwards like a coward.

Yukhei adds, “Huang is doing this as a test. You haven't had the talk with Lee yet. Hell, you haven't even fucked him, just a few kisses like two teenagers.”

A test. That sounds like Renjun, indeed, but Mark is tired of being tested everywhere.

Under his breath, Mark mutters, “He definitely doesn't kiss like a teenager.”

Anyone would have made fun of Mark for that, but not Yukhei. He laughs at the comment, slaps a pat on his back that would be too hard for any man in the world, and says, “I bet. So don't break down. This is as new and weird for Lee as it is for you.”

Mark has never stopped to think about Donghyuck's perspective. His friends suffered their feud since the beginning, so they must have the same opinion about Mark: that he's an asshole, that he doesn't deserve Donghyuck, and that if Donghyuck has a crush on him, it's because he makes terrible choices.

“That doesn't sound like a consolation,” Mark laments.

“It isn't.” Yukhei squeezes his arm, however, sympathetic. “But for Merlin, I'm so mad that you never told me you kissed the Veela days before we left Hogwarts.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“I don't think you were _embarrassed_,” Yukhei points out. “That's not the right word.”

He was out of his mind. Crazy, crazy over the boy whose brother had hurt him so much. Not ready to say goodbye. Embarrassed might not have been the right word.

Mark looks at himself at the mirror. His black clothes aren't out of the norm, but they make him look older than he is. Tonight, the neck of his shirt is low enough for a portion of his tattoo to be on sight, a few entangled branches of ink over his collarbone. Mark isn't going to hide them; the only person that he wanted to keep it from already knows about it.

Yukhei observes Mark's figure on the mirror as well, his features detouring into an uncharacteristic seriousness. Despite their jokes, Yukhei is conscious of how hard this is for Mark. A tiny mocking of his feelings would make him hesitate, and that's the reason he chose Yukhei over his other friends: he needs raw support, raw acceptance, even if he's making a wrong choice and exposing himself to be hurt by Donghyuck.

Yukhei whispers, “Don't screw up, Mark.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “Don't_ you_ screw up, Wong.”

“No promises,” Yukhei responds, and then he extends his hand to him, way larger than Mark's hand.

Mark holds onto him, and then Yukhei Apparates for the both of them.

Mark has a bad hunch from the start, but sometimes his hunches are skewed.

He isn't the only one who is visibly nervous; Donghyuck is, too, which is both comforting and incredibly endearing. While he didn't bother to wear one of his tunics, opting for a pair of black jeans and a crimson red shirt, Renjun did his best at imposing himself just with his outfit alone. Yukhei is beyond speechless when he sees Renjun, his high boots and the tight belt around his waist, the silky tunic that falls gently over his shoulders. Mark has to make an effort not to elbow Yukhei in the ribs, but thankfully he recovers from his initial surprise quick enough.

Jaemin, like his friends, has undergone a great change. He's much more muscular now, but he smiles with all his teeth, and comes off as quite harmless to Mark – a big contrast to what he was in Hogwarts, pretty smug and loud. Jeno perches on his side like he doesn't want Jaemin to talk too much and scare them, however, and that makes Mark suspect that perhaps they're not that different now: the wild trio of Slytherins, and a Hufflepuff to draw a line.

Renjun insists in giving them a tour around the house, insinuates that it'll be useful for Mark, and for Yukhei in case Mark disappears for too many days and he wants to rescue him. Mark doesn't pay much attention, for Donghyuck and he trail behind the group, hold hands while Donghyuck whispers unnecessary comments over Renjun's explanations. It's then, when Mark observes his and Donghyuck's friends talk and walk together, that he realizes that they'll never be awkward with each other. They might have fought a lot, but the war created a link among all of them that remains alive even in times of peace. They all have suffered, their childhoods were robbed away from them, but they've grown up and learned to find happiness in other aspects of their lives.

“Are you okay?” Mark asks Donghyuck when they're walking downstairs, finally to the living room to have dinner. His voice is muffled by Renjun assuring that there's no poison in the food, and by Jeno's laughter afterwards. “Do we have any news about the necklace?”

The severe look that Donghyuck sends him could silence Mark for an eternity.

“No work tonight, Lee,” he warns, but his fingers caress over his arm as a gesture of forgiveness, of comprehension. It's hard to switch off from their usual mindset, but it's important that they have the ability to forget work sometimes. “We're with friends. And I'm fine, but I should be the one asking that question.”

It doesn't take a genius to decipher Donghyuck's words. His gaze flickers to Mark's tattoo, and that's enough for Mark to realize that he's thinking about his scar. About if it hurts when Donghyuck touches him, when they kiss, about if Mark is high tonight too just to endure it.

Mark has to give up his pride, he just _has_ to. He can't be with Donghyuck if he doesn't; he wants to kiss Donghyuck without worrying about being in pain, and most important, he doesn't want to be constantly drugged, incapable of enjoying Donghyuck as he should.

“We can discuss that later,” he assures Donghyuck.

“Really?” It splits Mark's soul in two that Donghyuck sounds hopeful, a bit incredulous. When Mark locks eyes with him, Donghyuck looks so fragile that Mark would never be able to reject any of his proposals. “You mean that?”

Mark is afraid of what all this implies, but he forces a sincere, “I do.”

The gasp of awe that escapes Renjun's lips, upon hearing what Yukhei does for a living, is the most satisfying noise Mark has ever heard in his life.

It's out of pettiness, but never did he imagine that one of his friends would impress Huang Renjun, less in this situation. Judging the admiration that crosses Renjun's face, Mark chose the right person to accompany him. Doyoung, for example, wouldn't have gotten such a big reaction from him, for Renjun already has two Aurors in his circle of friends. It's even more pleasing to catch Donghyuck using his glass of wine to hide his smirk, amused at his own friend.

“You're a Healer?” Renjun repeats, like he could have misheard it. And, with a drop of mistrusts, he asks, “Which Department?”

Grinning from ear to ear, Yukhei is very proud to answer, “Spell Damage.”

Mark was wrong to assume that this couldn't get better. Renjun turns to exchange a glance with Donghyuck, a very solemn one, but his friend is currently trying not to laugh at him, and Renjun's silent yell for help is uncared for. Mark doesn't know what kind of conversations Renjun and Donghyuck must have had about Healers for them to communicate with a simple look.

“I won't pretend that I'm not impressed,” Renjun admits, in conclusion, and Mark can see how much that irritates him.

“Thank you,” Yukhei says. He's free from malice, and Mark doesn't need to check his face to know that he hasn't interpreted any of Renjun's gestures how he should have. “What do you do now?”

Yukhei is sincerely interested, and Mark has also wanted to ask for a while. Jaemin has already told them that he manages his family's business – the commercialization of Quidditch Speedsters, a famous magazine about Quidditch and its players – but Renjun hasn't offered that information on his own.

He seems to appreciate that Yukhei asked, though, because he draws a charming smile at the question.

“I research the properties of Billywig's wings,” he reveals. He tilts his head to the side, quite condescending. “Have you heard about them?”

“Those that make you levitate when they sting you?”

“Exactly those,” Renjun confirms. Again, he has to conceal his surprise, but he's a lot more successful this time. Donghyuck fakes a cough to muffle his cackling, and Mark pinches his thigh under the table. “I'm unironically glad that we all became decent persons.”

What Renjun is suggesting is that he's relieved that none of them let their lives be destroyed by the war, but it's a topic too dark for an introductory dinner.

Perhaps it's because they all have drank a considerable amount of wine by then, but Yukhei seems to find the comment pretty funny.

“I wouldn't be so fast to assume we all are decent,” he remarks, throwing a knowingly smile to Mark.

Mark isn't following, but his defensiveness blooms like a new-born flower. “What is that supposed to mean?” he protests. “Yukhei, shut the fuck up.”

Before Yukhei can swirl a half-drunken attack at him – one he'd pay for tomorrow, when Mark would still be thirsty for vengeance – Renjun comments, “I've never heard you swear, Lee.”

“Me neither,” Jaemin coincides.

It's almost comical that a bunch of adult wizards expected him to have only pure, kind words in his vocabulary, but Mark guesses that he had a very strong, immovable fame in Hogwarts.

Mark rolls his eyes. “You're going to hear a lot of it.”

Renjun laughs out loud, throws his head back over the seat. He's not the only one: Jaemin and Yukhei laugh as well, but there's a tiny spark of mischief in their eyes. Donghyuck has adopted a mild shadow of red, either because of the wine or because of the situation, and Jeno offers Mark a demure smile.

Mark doesn't understand what's so amusing until Renjun calms down and, eyebrows playfully raised, answers, “I hope so.”

Needless to say, Mark chokes on his own saliva, and tries to clear his throat, drowned in embarrassment. Renjun doesn't gain anything with teasing Mark about Donghyuck, except the kick of power, and unlike Donghyuck, Mark isn't used to being treated this way.

“Why are you two so uncomfortable with this?” Jaemin notices, his gaze fixed on the way Donghyuck is gripping his glass, knuckles white. “It's just sex.”

It's not just sex, not for them. And Donghyuck might have told his friends many secrets about Mark, but it's evident that they don't know about Mark's scar. That's their main problem, both physically and emotionally.

For once, Mark thinks about Donghyuck's well-being first: he knows that guilt is eating Donghyuck up, and this dinner is already stressful enough for him to add up another problem. When Mark looks for Donghyuck's hand, Donghyuck is waiting for him, and their fingers entangle with a force that soothes all of Mark’s nervousness. _I’m sorry_, Donghyuck’s touch seems to tell him. Mark doesn’t think it’s his fault, not anymore.

“Don't pressure them,” Yukhei scolds them, wholeheartedly. He gathers all the attention that way, a relief for Mark: Yukhei is doing it on purpose to give them a break. “Aurors are a whole different breed, you know?”

Renjun hums, agreeing, “You tell me.”

As the dinner continues, Mark relaxes. Renjun and Yukhei talk enough to make up for his silence, and contrary to his expectation, the atmosphere is far from tense. Mark attributes it to the wine, but it helps that none of them bring up the past; a tiny comment about Mark's actions, for example, could make an argument explode. Renjun could provoke him easily, too, for he has been sharing Donghyuck's bed for years, for Donghyuck loves him, and Renjun has the right to evaluate if Mark isn't going take care of him instead of hurting him again.

They disperse after the dessert, but Donghyuck assures Mark that it's fine, that his friends aren't going to torture Yukhei too much. Mark accepts just because Donghyuck asks him to, because he wants to be alone with him despite all the time they already spend together.

The second walk around Donghyuck's house reveals many secrets. This is Donghyuck's family house: there are pictures of them on the wall, which Mark didn't notice hours ago.

Donghyuck's mother was the Veela of the pair, there's no doubt about it. Her blonde hair flies around her beautiful features when she spins in the pictures, smile wide and enchanting. There's a certain picture in which she's wearing a red dress, and her smile strongly reminds Mark of Donghyuck, her arms curled around two kids, a one-year-old baby Donghyuck whose loud laugh pierces through the painting, and a stern five-year-old with a demure smile. It's strange to know they were happy once upon a time.

“Is the house yours now?” Mark pries as Donghyuck leads him through the corridor of the second floor.

“Yes.” Donghyuck pulls harder at his hand, prompting him to hurry up. Perhaps he doesn't want Mark to look at his family pictures, not because he's afraid to show him, but because seeing Donghyuck's brother might bring bad memories. “That's why Renjun lives with me. I grew up in a house full of life, and now it isn't, but Renjun fills it up. I couldn't stand it otherwise.”

Mark can't imagine that feeling, but he's familiar with the sensation of feeling lonely in a big house. It makes sense that Donghyuck noticed that part of him, since he can understand it on a personal level as well.

“My room,” Donghyuck signals then, softly kicking the next door with one of his feet.

Mark doesn't let go of his hand, too intimidated by the mere thought of invading such a private space. It wasn't a secret that deciphering Donghyuck's life had always been an aim of his, though for all the wrong reasons, and now that he's allowed to, he's afraid of stepping into it without care.

Donghyuck closes the door behind them, and then slips out of Mark's grip, forcing him to move around the bedroom by free will. The roguish smile on his lips dares Mark to follow him, promises him that there will be a punishment if he does, and Mark has to stray his attention away from him.

“I can tell you don't spend a lot of time here, Veela,” Mark observes. Donghyuck's room is full of objects, even of posters of the Montrose Magpies, but every single thing looks abandoned, as if Donghyuck hadn't even spared them a glance in weeks. “Not into wasting time sleeping?”

Donghyuck laughs behind him, and before Mark can turn around, Donghyuck's soft arms are wrapped around his waist, his face leaning between Mark's shoulder blades. They stay in that position for a moment, Mark caressing Donghyuck's hands over his abdomen, looking up at the antiquated amulets hanging off the walls, and Donghyuck pressed against his back.

“You promised me we'd talk about it,” Donghyuck says after a pause.

That's the reason Donghyuck brought him to a private place. Mark carefully unwraps Donghyuck's arms, turns on his heels and sits on the bed, aware that he can't talk about this and stand at the same time. Donghyuck doesn't sit with him, he places himself between Mark's legs, sighs when Mark grabs at his hips and looks up at him.

“Your blood might be the solution,” Mark confesses. He had talked with Yukhei, who was familiar with the caliber of his torturing spell, with its longevity and its consequences. “But it hurts my ego, Donghyuck.”

Expressing that sentiment out loud makes Mark feel like an idiot. Anyone else could reproach him that he's suffering just not to ask for a favor from Donghyuck, that it's terribly senseless and self-harming, but Mark is relieved to see that Donghyuck _understands_ him.

“I know it does,” Donghyuck whispers. He threads his hands in Mark's hair, strokes his fringe back and stares into his exposed, reserved eyes. “I want you to look at this from my perspective, at least once.”

With Donghyuck, it's all about perspectives. About exchanging their perspectives, comprehending why they behaved the way they did, and learning to forgive. And Mark had thought for many years that it was a goal impossible to reach, but he finds himself ready for it, disposed to accept and move on. Some scars, he realizes, linger just because one can't let go of them.

Donghyuck inhales, his chest inflating against his shirt, and closes his eyes for a moment. It's not a story to be told without preparation, but it's neither a story to be told with his eyes closed, so when he speaks, his eyelids part to display the most enchanting, alluring pair of eyes that Mark has ever looked into.

“You were just twelve, Mark,” Donghyuck recalls. Donghyuck was just eleven, and he didn't know better than him. “There were many kids like you, rebelling, or too young to have an opinion, but fearful enough not to support Voldemort. My brother could have punished any of them, but he chose you.”

Mark never had considered that logic. Donghyuck is right, however: he didn't even have to think about other unknown Hogwarts students. His brother could have taken Yukhei, for example, or Doyoung, or Jaehyun or Sicheng. Even Jungwoo, who was too smart to talk, but looked into the Death Eaters' eyes with open defiance. Mark supposes that somehow he always believed that he had deserved it.

It's the first time Mark wonders, “Why?”

Donghyuck's fingertips walk along Mark's temple. “Because he knew I had an inclination for you,” he says, pupils travelling up to avoid Mark's shocked expression. “When we went back home for Christmas, I told my mom about you. The boy that looked at me during our clandestine Potions classes, so cute and curious of my Veela powers. My brother was spying on us. He was so angry, you can't even imagine. I still can-” Donghyuck chokes on his own words for a moment, blinks the wetness away from his eyes. Mark squeezes his waist in hopes Donghyuck will find some consolation in his arms. “See him as if he was in front of me. He was backing my cowardice up and I was just betraying him without any respect for his sacrifices, that's what he said.”

What Donghyuck hadn't known, Mark wishes to tell him, was that by then his brother wasn't the boy he had grown up with. For the Death Eaters, there was rarely any going back, but Donghyuck was just an innocent kid who had been raised with his brother as a model to follow, and he had dreaded disappointing him.

“He tortured you to let me know what would happen to you if I just- insisted on not changing my feelings.” Donghyuck lets out a shaky breath. It had been a game he couldn't win, no matter what he did. It was either abandoning Mark to his own luck, or throwing a fit and proving that his brother's acts were justified, and that he was right by teaching Mark a lesson. “I didn't defend you because it'd have been worse, much worse than this.”

Mark could be dead. When he lied on the cold stone floor of the Potions Class, he had been certain that if he was killed, his death wouldn’t have any importance. As years passed by, Mark had convinced himself that Donghyuck’s brother was just toying with him, that he wouldn’t have reached the point of murdering a kid.

Now he knows, as Donghyuck’s hand strokes down his neck and onto his chest, looking for his scar, that he could have died that day.

“What a silly thing, was it?” Mark’s lips curl up into a smile, and Donghyuck glances at him in fear for one second before he finds out that there’s no bitterness in his face. Mark is grateful for knowing, because it changes his opinion, and at last, his decision about the scar. “A kid crushing on another kid.”

It’s like a circle, beginning and end starting and finishing in the same place: Donghyuck and Mark tied to each other.

Donghyuck slowly lets himself fall on Mark, but Mark is there to catch him, to up him onto his lap. It’s the world upside down, because Donghyuck should console him for being hurt, but it’s Mark who consoles him for all the responsibility he carried on his shoulders. Neither of them deserved what they got.

“Let me fix it, please,” Donghyuck begs, nuzzling at his neck. “I'll never ask anything from you ever again.”

Mark knows that it’s not true. When you feed an animal, they learn that they can get food from you.

“You’ll ask many things, Veela,” Mark whispers into his ear. Donghyuck’s hands roam over his chest, and Mark doesn’t stop him, hoists him closer until he can feel Donghyuck’s heartbeat against his chest. The pain doesn’t matter anymore; touching Donghyuck drowns any other sensation, and Mark might go crazy because of it, his body might go crazy, but he won’t regret any step of the way. “And I’ll give them all to you.”

It’s all the permission Donghyuck needs. Permission to cure him, to redeem his silence. When Donghyuck lifts his head, there’s surprise and excitement in his eyes, for he expected Mark to be stubborn and reject the idea.

Mark doesn’t give him time to talk. They’ve done enough talking. He parts his lips and wraps a hand behind Donghyuck’s head, guiding him forward. Donghyuck’s tongue in his mouth reveals more than any of his words: just like Mark, who has wanted to kiss Donghyuck during the whole dinner, he has been waiting for this moment. Their waiting makes it messy, Mark licking into his mouth, not on his mouth sometimes, Donghyuck kissing and sucking along the vein in his neck, and hands pulling and groping everywhere. Mark kisses him until he can’t breathe, even though it’s not Donghyuck’s mouth what makes him breathless. They have yet to get to know each other’s body, and that’s what Mark tries to do: touch every inch of Donghyuck, once and again, feeling how Donghyuck twists his back to brush against him, hard and shameless.

Mark thinks he’s never going to get used to it. Even though he didn’t let his imagination run wild with Donghyuck, he loses his self-control every time Dongyuck’s thighs part around his hips, every time Donghyuck purposely lands his weight on Mark’s crotch. Mark isn’t good at pretending that it doesn’t entice him, and at this point he doesn’t care: he groans into Donghyuck’s mouth, holds his ass to keep him in place – against his dick, half-hard beneath all the clothes – and softly bites down on Donghyuck’s lips when he smiles at his obvious weakness.

“I want you so bad,” Mark mutters against his lips.

Donghyuck knows that. He presses a peck on the corner of his lips, breathing Mark’s heavy gasps, and his grin grows wider and wider. Mark grips onto him, but Donghyuck is stronger than him, and is able to put a stop to their irrationality.

“It’ll hurt you,” Donghyuck retorts. He noses along Mark’s jaw, trying to calm himself as well, trying to give both of them some time. “And I want you to feel pleasure, only that, not pleasure _and_ pain.”

It’s unfair, and Mark can’t help but grumble, “Donghyuck.”

Of course it’ll hurt, but Mark is disposed to put up with it as long as he can fuck Donghyuck. It’s a dirty, raw and honest thought, almost desperate, and it makes Mark conscious of how much Donghyuck’s Veela blood influences him.

However, Donghyuck insists, “It’s too intimate. What you feel when you kiss me is nothing compared to the pain you’ll feel if you’re inside of me.”

The mere mention of it goes direct to Mark’s dick, but he’s too far gone to feel embarrassed. Donghyuck muffles his laugh in Mark’s neck, and despite the rejection, he doesn’t detach from Mark’s body, doesn’t deny him physical contact. Mark _swears_ that he could go crazy right now, no turning back.

“If you trust me,” Donghyuck begins, finally putting enough distance between them to lock eyes with him. There’s a blush on his cheeks, either from shame or from the heat of Mark’s kisses, and Mark unconsciously lifts his hips. Donghyuck gasps at the hardness of Mark's erection grinding on him, and his eyes turn a darker shadow of brown. “I can do something else.”

Mark doesn't miss a beat. “I trust you.”

He has no idea what Donghyuck is talking about, but he'll surrender for it without hesitation. Pleased with Mark's quick response, Donghyuck shifts on his lap and presses his index finger on his lips, silently forbidding him to talk. Mark doesn't need to, or so he thinks, but his head explodes with questions and complaints as soon as Donghyuck speaks again.

“No kisses,” he warns him, and as proof that he's going to follow through, he plants a last lip-locking kiss on Mark's mouth. “No touching, even if you think you can't take it anymore, unless I guide your hands on me.”

Curiosity is what buys Mark's approval. For once, he's willing to play one of Donghyuck's little games, so he nods at the conditions, his gaze fixed on Donghyuck's lips. That's the only reason he registers Donghyuck's smirk.

Donghyuck gets off his lap and takes two steps back, observing Mark's every reaction. It's difficult not to reach out and stop him, but Mark has to keep his promise if he wants to know what comes next.

Donghyuck doesn't disappoint. His fingers climb up on his shirt, and with the faint rustle of his red fabric, the first button comes off. Mark's immediate response is a whine, but he drowns it in his throat. Donghyuck is patient, stare on Mark's face though his attention has irrevocably drifted to Donghyuck's body, and undresses himself with secure, confident movements.

It feels like an eternity, even if it's not. Donghyuck's skin looks terse and inviting, and Mark sneaks a hand over his own erection, feels himself through his pants. He admires Donghyuck's waist, his hipbones, and sinks the heel of his palm on his own crotch with a groan.

Donghyuck lets out a shaky breath at the sight, but he has the strength to say, “Stop.” And Mark does, because Donghyuck's hands have moved onto his jeans, and he'd sacrifice his whole pride just for Donghyuck to completely strip for him. “Only I can touch you.”

“Take that off,” Mark manages to throw back at him.

Donghyuck gives him a falsely shy smile before getting rid of his pants, and Mark pants at the way his thighs move when Donghyuck walks towards him again, slow enough to torture him. And god, Mark didn't think it’d be so difficult to stick to Donghyuck's rules, but it is. His thighs are full and smooth, and Mark spirals into a sea of thoughts: Renjun must have touched them so much, he must have come on them, he must have fucked between them; and Donghyuck must look so pretty with his legs apart, inner thighs tensing up and shaking. It makes Mark's blood boil that other man enjoyed that and he _can't_, not even if both want to, just because of the scar.

“You're very quiet, Lee,” Donghyuck observes, setting a knee between Mark's legs.

Mark fists the edge of the bed to prevent himself from touching Donghyuck. And he understands, at last, what Donghyuck is doing. He gazes up at Donghyuck's intimidating stare, mouth dry and throat raspy.

“There are many things I want to tell you,” he manages to utter. Donghyuck holds onto his shoulders, and with an awfully wicked smile, straddles him. The grumble that leaves Mark's lips is far from honorable. “And none of them are good.”

Mark closes his eyes for a moment, feeling Donghyuck's weight on him. It's true that his scar doesn't hurt as long they're not directly touching, but Donghyuck's warmth trespasses the fabric of their clothes, and Mark still senses a tingling all over his torso.

When he meets Donghyuck's hungry eyes, realization blows him: he's fully clothed, and Donghyuck is obscenely naked, only his underwear on, about to use him and let Mark use him.

“I don't deserve good words,” Donghyuck coincides.

At first, Donghyuck doesn't respond to Mark's needs. He grinds down on Mark's thigh, slow, his chest inflating with every breath. It could be to tease him, but Mark knows better, senses how hard Donghyuck is on the first stroke, just as ready as Mark is. And Mark would have the mind space to make his ego feed on that, yet that's impossible. Donghyuck looks so pretty on him, hips moving forward and backwards, small puffs of air slipping past his lips, that Mark can't think about anything or anyone else. He's every wet dream come truth, except Mark can't fuck into him, except that Donghyuck cares about his own pleasure first, disregarding Mark's impatience until his whole body is tensed up in eagerness. It's then, just then, when Donghyuck grinds all the way to Mark's hips.

“You're so hard,” Donghyuck breathes out, a hint of surprise in his voice. He moves in circles on Mark's crotch, and then upwards, as to feel the whole length of his dick, unabashedly curious about how big he is. Mark doesn't give a fuck; the pressure over his dick is enough for him to allow Donghyuck to do whatever he wants. He flinches when Donghyuck whispers into his mouth, “Such a waste.”

“It is,” Mark groans. He thinks about that, about fucking into Donghyuck until he can't articulate any word, until he doesn't look as powerful as the teasing prick on his lap does right now. After a long time, Mark has accumulated enough energy and enough ideas to wreck him. “I'd make you feel so good.”

Donghyuck throws his head back, pleasantly humming at his words. It's him who sets the pace, rubbing on Mark's bulge with enough rhythm to make both of them feel tiny bursts of pleasure, but so erratic that it's obvious Donghyuck wants to drag it out.

Mark doesn't protest; Donghyuck's Veela charms are on full display, and he can't stop looking at him, can't stop thinking that Donghyuck is so weak for him that he has unconsciously unleashed his most primal side. Mark adores him this way: his underwear wet from his own precum, his eyes hazy, the curves of his body molded against and _around_ him. He loves how Donghyuck's thighs tremble with every stroke, their dicks pressed up and twitching, how Donghyuck speeds up, glancing down at his face hoping to see a reaction, to drink up another groan falling from Mark's lips.

And Mark can't stand it, after all. The pain would be worth it, he's sure of it, but he _promised_.

“Let me touch you,” Mark demands, begs Donghyuck, his hands pulling at the sheets so hard that the bed moves underneath them.

In a daze, Donghyuck looks at him with pure vehemence. “Over my underwear,” he concedes. The response is immediate, and Mark's hands slap down on his ass so fast that Donghyuck lets out an embarrassing yelp, surprised. But the next time he bucks his hips forward, the pressure of Mark's hold and his own move become the perfect combination to make him moan so loudly that he flushes red afterwards. And then, he utters a weak, “Like that.”

Mark lets out a groan, dying to hear that again, grabbing onto Donghyuck's ass with a new realization. Donghyuck didn't take his underwear off for _this_: so that Mark could control him in the end, so that he could grope and sink his fingertips in his skin to set a different rhythm.

It turns Mark completely crazy, because Donghyuck wants Mark to use him, and that's pretty much clear when he stops squeezing against Mark's dick, passing him all the power.

“Fuck,” Mark curses. He sees white for a second, but then he recognizes Donghyuck's swollen lips and the absolutely indecent way he's looking at him, and he thrusts upwards hard and dry, more roughness than intent. “_Fuck_, Donghyuck.”

It's Mark's game now. He doesn't treat Donghyuck with delicacy: he rams against him until Donghyuck is crying out at the contact, not enough layers of fabric for him to bear the amount of pressure on his dick. For Mark it's different; he's desperate, trying to get off by the slow build up through his clothes, hands printed on Donghyuck's ass, with the only aim to see him come first.

And Donghyuck comes first, with Mark's name on his lips and a moan so sweet and submissive that sends Mark to his final breathe. He comes harder than ever, harder than he could have ever come fucking anyone else, watching Donghyuck's beautiful face and rejoicing in the blush on his cheeks, hearing him whine and plead for Mark to come with him. So Mark obeys, and then he closes his eyes, the whole world spinning around him, around Donghyuck and him.

“Do you want to sleep over?” Donghyuck asks minutes later, brushing his wet hair in front of the mirror.

After changing into the clothes that Donghyuck lent him, Mark must look way too comfortable on bed, but it’s not comfort, it’s just exhaustion. He’s quite envious of how energized Donghyuck still seems to be, his Veela aura becoming a softened air of calmness, as he grooms himself for bed.

Mark wants to stay, there’s no need to even doubt it. “I don't think I should abandon Yukhei,” he points out, anyhow, because his friend made him a favor and Mark has done enough tonight to be ungrateful; disappearing, for starters. “It's not polite.”

Donghyuck sends him an amused grin through the mirror. “You don't have to worry about Wong,” he assures, distractedly muttering a spell to dry his hair. “He's pretty comfortable, in case you haven't noticed.”

Maybe it’s because Mark is still in a daze, but he doesn’t understand what Donghyuck is talking about.

“What? Why?”

This time, Donghyuck laughs out loud, eyes crinkling up in pure joy. He spins with a grace that isn't meant to impress, a grace that comes from trust and peace, and Mark awes at him for a second. It's strange to be in a room with Lee Donghyuck, look into his eyes and realize that he trusts Mark, and that Mark himself is starting to trust him back.

When Donghyuck crawls back on the bed, Mark extends an arm towards him. Donghyuck doesn't take his hand, but he encircles his wrist instead, touching there where the fabric protects Mark. Mark appreciates that, because he's oversensitive after all his body has experienced, and he's not in the right mind to decide what's best for him.

“He's definitely sleeping over tonight,” Donghyuck whispers then, pressing his cheek against the mattress.

Mark presses his lips into a line, feeling how the blood draws away from his face. He understands, at last, why Yukhei doesn't need him.

“You're not serious,” Mark hisses at Donghyuck, like it's his fault that this is happening, and definitely not Mark's fault for bringing Yukhei here in the first place.

The challenge insufflates courage in Donghyuck, and he flips his hair back to have a better view of Mark's expression in front of him.

“Do you want to go down and check if Jaemin and Jeno are still here?” he dares, waving to the door of his bedroom. Mark follows the direction of his gesture, but suddenly opening the door looks like the most threatening plan ever. A lazy smirk invades Donghyuck's face. “Because they aren't, Lee.”

If there's a trait Mark can be proud of, is that he's grown to have his panic under control. Even though he's horrified at the perspective of Yukhei letting Renjun lure him – because Renjun is the one to be responsible of this, Mark won't accept any other theory – he manages to remember where his wand is: on Donghyuck's bedside table, too far away from his reach.

“_Accio_ wand,” Mark hisses, opening his hand. Donghyuck whistles, impressed at his wandless magic, but breaks into laughter as soon as the wand is in Mark's grasp and he exclaims, “_Quietus_!”

The atmosphere of the room shifts under the spell: it becomes some sort of bubble, where they can't hear anything from the exterior, not even the small cracks of the wood. And therefore, Mark is safe from hearing any noises that will stay in his memory forever.

“You’re so childish,” Donghyuck accuses him. Despite that, he rolls over the bed until he leans his head on Mark's forearm, until his leg brushes over Mark's hips like asking for more contact, but not too much contact. “You know they definitely heard us, right?”

Mark hasn't pondered about that, but he'll deal with the consequences of his own lack of prudence tomorrow. There isn't much that can worry him now, not with Donghyuck's brown eyes on him, a tiny piece of happiness amidst chaos.

Peace doesn't last forever, but luckily for them, they're used to war.

Mark enjoys every second of calm, revels in Donghyuck's smiles and in his harsh words, loves every tiny argument they have. They argue about the smallest things, a small game of pull and push that often ends up in kisses. Otherwise, Donghyuck often wins, for he just has to flick his hair and leer at Mark, and then Mark doesn't even have the brain space to process that Donghyuck is manipulating him. He adores that Donghyuck throws objects at him when he's not looking, even at the office, just with a wave of his hand. Mark picks up pens from his lap, feeling like a Muggle in kindergarten being teased by his crush; he reads small notes with stupid, childish insults on them, and hears Donghyuck cackle as he falls for the same trick a hundred times.

Their tense relationship is soon forgotten, and people assume that they've managed to reach an agreement to work together and preserve their careers. It's much more than that, and in fact, they're putting their careers on danger by sharing more intimacy than it should be allowed.

And right when they're considering other paths for their investigation, the transcription of the necklace messages arrives. It doesn't arrive during their office time, but in the middle of the night, and more precisely, it's sent to Donghyuck.

Donghyuck doesn't resort to Mark as soon as he receives the report. That's pretty much clear by his semblance when he Apparates in Mark's bedroom, dragging him from a slumber that becomes very insignificant in a matter of seconds: Donghyuck has read the report, and it doesn’t bring good news.

With the report in his hold, Donghyuck can barely stand, and Mark jumps out of bed to help him. There's not much light in Mark's bedroom, but a subtle _Lumos_ illuminates Donghyuck's features enough for Mark to realize that something is wrong, _utterly_ wrong.

Donghyuck's pupils are scarlet, but he's not angry – it's not that he's not angry, Mark realizes in horror, it's that his anger is drowned by sadness.

Mark is wary, for Donghyuck isn't a simple human, and therefore physical contact could become a trigger for his reactions. He tries to hook his index finger with Donghyuck's pinky, and Donghyuck releases a heavy sigh, blinks at Mark like he's seeing him for the first time.

“Donghyuck,” Mark calls him, greets him. “What happened?”

“You were right,” Donghyuck croaks out. “The trafficking of Euphoria Elixir is just a cover.”

Mark feels his heart plummet to his stomach. He had wished to be wrong, even if that meant that the Auror Department had assigned them to a joke of a mission; now contemplating Donghyuck's pain, he knows that would have been much better. He knows that he’d have preferred an easy mission while they molded to each other.

“A cover for what?”

Donghyuck stares down at his lap, and says just one demolishing word, “Kids.” He breathes in, and his fingers curl around Mark's hand. “You told me that it was mainly orphan kids selling it, that they did that for a living because the war had left no one to care for them, but when we were at the White Wyvern, there were just adults.”

Donghyuck has a good point: Mark had recognized the possible smugglers, and they all were grown up, but Mark grips onto his last hope and reasons, “Kids can't enter the pub, that's why-”

“No, Lee,” Donghyuck cuts him off. He uses his last name, perhaps because he's not disposed to bear with Mark breaking down at the truth, because he needs to remind him that they're Aurors and their duty is to not look away from problems. “Those kids are on the streets as exposure for clients, but not the sort of clients they thought.”

Mark dreads to enquire further, his thoughts blocking all the possibilities that Donghyuck is opening. “I'm not following you,” he lies.

Donghyuck slaps the report on his legs, startles Mark without any intention of being soft on him.

“It's all here,” he grumbles. Mark eyes the report, unsettled, but still more concerned about Donghyuck's state. They've trained for this, he tells himself, and they've passed all sort of tests, so Donghyuck wouldn't weaken at the first bump of the road. “They promise them a way of earning. There's a whole myth about how the kids that disappear from the streets have gotten promoted and are moving in more important circles now, but that's not true. It's the bait for the newcomers.”

That's how trafficking networks function, so Mark doesn't question it. He already knows what Donghyuck is hinting at, and he feels his guts twist at the thought, at his own assumptions.

Mark caresses Donghyuck's hand, finding more consolation in him than he can give Donghyuck. “Where do they go?”

“They're sold,” Donghyuck reveals. It's a mild way to describe it, and Mark is aware: once you buy someone, you can do anything with them. “As if they were House-Elves.”

Mark nods, gulps down the knot in his throat. The first step not to roll into madness is to block his imagination, to be cold and level-headed. It has always been one of the most difficult tasks for Mark, who was always drawn by his impulsiveness and feelings, but he's not alone in this. They're a pair, and any of his mistakes or conducts will directly affect Donghyuck's security; and he's not going to let that happen.

Mark concludes, “It's not drug trafficking, it's human trafficking.”

“And there has to be something else,” Donghyuck adds. “Otherwise this case wouldn't have been sent to the Auror department.”

Mark meets Donghyuck's gaze, and it's exciting, for once, that he's conscious of their power. They were chosen to do this, Donghyuck and he, together, and Mark isn't going to disappoint himself, Donghyuck, or any of his superiors.

“That's why they need us.” Mark holds the report in his hands; it's thick and heavy, and he's going to read every word on it, no matter how cruel and hard it is. “These kids could run away from their owners' houses, but they're not.”

Donghyuck intertwines their fingers, so intimately that Mark's scar burns beneath his clothes. He doesn't complain, however, because it's almost ironical how Mark's life has always twirled around pain in many ways, and how he's about to destroy them all for one man.

“There's Dark magic involved,” Donghyuck sentences, pale.

Mark isn't afraid. That's their specialty.

“It's not my intention to alarm you,” Yukhei announces, pretty much making it sound like they _should_ be alarmed. “But I've never worked with Veela blood.”

From his position, Mark can't sit up, for Yukhei placed magical chains around his hips, legs and wrists, and tied him to the floor. He still sees Donghyuck and Yukhei, however, at his right: Yukhei has around thirteen medical bowls that are typically used to making potions in small quantities, and he's stirring one of them with his wand, golden vapor drawing loops in the air. Next to him, Donghyuck has a whole bandage pressed up against his arm, even though Yukhei already closed the wound he inflicted to extract his blood, but he was a bit scared of Donghyuck's eyes turning scarlet, and he had decided to apply a bandage as well.

“For Merlin's beard,” Mark whines. “It's the worst moment to say such a thing.”

Donghyuck glances at him, a mixture of entertainment and fondness. “Don't worry, Lee,” he says, and then he winks at Mark, pointing at his own arm. “I have plenty of blood.”

Mark is torn between scolding him or laughing, because Lee Donghyuck can be quite ridiculous sometimes, but Mark can only trust him to joke in a moment that might change their lives for better or for worse.

“You refused to do this legally,” Yukhei grumbles. It reminds Mark of a child that has to begrudgingly do his homework. It's obviously too late for him to retract his help, for Donghyuck could bite his head off if he tries to, and he has almost finished brewing all the potions he needs for the cure. “Fuck, your _best friend_ works at the Spell Damage Department, why do we have to make this whole ordeal dangerous instead of getting you a proper team of Healers?”

Yukhei's words are far from soothing, but Mark believes in his skills. He can forgive him for being nervous, which is the reason he keeps blabbering that he _can't_ do it, that it's too dangerous. The three of them know that he'd have never agreed if he thought it posed a real danger to Mark's life.

“Wong, he has an illegal tattoo on his scar,” Donghyuck unhelpfully supplies, rolling his eyes. “I think St Mungo’s was going to ask too many questions.”

Yukhei lifts his hand at him, a trail of golden vapor crossing the air between them. “Don't try to fool me, Lee,” he warns him. Mark gapes at his friend for a second, amazed at how he has the guts to threaten Donghyuck. “We're doing this now because you two can't wait for all the paperwork St Mungo’s would have to do, and _you_,” Yukhei's voice drops, and with the hesitation of someone that knows he will regret speaking, he adds, “just want to fuck.”

Mark would have the decency to be coy if he wasn't chained to the floor, too worried about his own state to care about his friend judging him.

On the other hand, when Yukhei wipes his head towards them, Donghyuck merely stares at him, nonchalant. “_What_, am I supposed to contradict you?”

It's quite satisfying to witness how Yukhei recoils in himself, learning that, even if Donghyuck isn't the asshole they assumed he was, even if he's _with_ Mark, they can't win against his wit. Mark should advise Yukhei to keep his big mouth closed, for Donghyuck now also has blackmail material about Renjun and him.

Ignoring Donghyuck's statement, Yukhei tells him, “This is going to hurt, Mark.”

“I know.”

Yukhei lifts his eyebrows. “You know, but you have no idea of how intense it'll be.”

But Mark can imagine the pain. He supposes the chains are there to keep him still when he begins to scream and attempts to stop the cure. He has read upon the topic for around ten years. Magical torturing, curses that live through pulsating scars. If the literature he learned from is right, the experience will be as excruciating as the torturing itself. Mark will never ready for it, but he wants to do it regardless.

As soon as Donghyuck's attention lands on Mark, he detects his agitation. Mark feels _naked _under his scrutinizing, but it's not a bad feeling anymore.

Donghyuck pretends that they're alone, or maybe he doesn't mind that they aren't, because he bends over Mark's figure and presses a sweet kiss on his lips, and then another one on the corner of his mouth. That's enough for Mark to grip onto the edges of his own nerves, to switch his logic off just to give space to his feelings – the reason he's doing this. To be free. To free Donghyuck, too.

“Thank you,” Donghyuck murmurs after the last kiss.

Mark smiles, more to himself than to his partner, his lips brushing Donghyuck's. “Veela, shouldn't I thank you?”

Mark couldn't do this without his blood, but Donghyuck has been trying to silence that, to avoid discussing it so that it didn't hurt Mark's pride. It has taught Mark another lesson: that his pride is as valuable as he makes it to be, not more and not less, and that sometimes it should have no value at all.

“You know why,” Donghyuck says, just that. But he's not finished, and his words catch Mark off guard, a whisper that sends a shiver down his spine. “I hope we'll be happy.”

“Gross,” Yukhei remarks, honest disgust in his voice when it blooms across the apartment. Mark chuckles, and Donghyuck's mouth contorts into an irremediably breathtaking smile. Mark memorizes it, closes his eyes and replays it again and again, knowing that it'll be his best memory when the pain strikes. “Get out of the way, Lee. I have a patient to cure.”

Mark doesn’t have to recover from the procedure: he has to recover from exhaustion.

It’s true that his memories don’t compare to reality, don’t reach the level of pain he has to endure for hours. His mind might have not erased the horrors of his past, but it has tenderized them. He’s barely conscious of what’s happening. It’s like being burnt alive, all over again, losing track of the time. Often he doesn’t remember that it’s Yukhei, his friend, who is curing him. He believes that Donghyuck’s brother is in the room with him, and he enters and slips out of the bits of his own madness, says his name and begs for mercy – something that he didn’t do back then. Donghyuck’s presence doesn’t contribute to calm him down, it just intensifies his bad memories, but Mark doesn’t have the chance to tell him before he loses all reasoning.

Mark blacks out during the last stretch of the procedure, and when he wakes up, he’s on his own bed, clean and tucked in, Donghyuck’s frame curled up next to him. Donghyuck, every time Mark drifts out of his sleep, is there. Sometimes awake, sometimes asleep, sometimes poking at Mark’s closed scar in awe, sometimes caressing over his chest until Mark is riled up and he has to beg for a simple kiss. Donghyuck doesn’t always indulge him, claims that he’s too _sick_ and exhausted to receive affection, that he can’t handle a Veela right now. If he just knew that Mark will never be able to handle him, no matter what.

Donghyuck changes his mind after a couple of days, however. It’s a blunt shift, when Donghyuck apparates at Mark’s house after a long day of work, kicks Yukhei out – because he’s already there, so Mark doesn’t need his friend to take care of him – and pats Mark’s thighs as if he was a lazy dog.

“Get your arse up,” he demands, completely serious. “You’ve rested long enough.”

Mark watches him amusedly from the bed. Donghyuck isn’t wrong, but Mark wants to have some fun before revealing that he can, indeed, get up. That he’s just lying down because Yukhei caught him walking all over the house like a tiger in a cage and forced him to rest, but not because he can’t _move_ around.

“Aren’t you being too harsh on me?” Mark protests, appealing to Donghyuck’s mercy.

It’s immediate: Donghyuck deflates, resigned rather than angry. He drags his feet over the floor to the bed, and climbs over Mark with no energy. Mark laughs out loud at him, but Donghyuck looks so _pretty_ and so spoiled, too used to getting his requests fulfilled right away, that Mark can’t help but welcome him into his arms.

Donghyuck happily molds into his embrace, and whines, “It’s boring to work alone.” To work without Mark, he means. He’s not alone at the Department, and he could even resort to Jeno for entertainment, but Donghyuck wants Mark back instead. “Everyone is asking about you, because apparently Lee Mark is a _very loved_ boy at the Department. I did all the paperwork for your _sickness_.” He sighs, pressing his head against Mark’s chest, relieved that he can do that without worrying about causing any pain. “And I got a good lead, an invitation to a clandestine meeting, and a plan.”

It’s way too much information for Mark to grasp the amount of work Donghyuck has developed behind his back. He tries not to _think_ where Donghyuck must have gone alone, tells himself that Donghyuck is completely capable and he shouldn’t underestimate him, but there’s still an unsettling feeling in his stomach.

“You got a lead,” Mark gasps, sitting up at last. Donghyuck groans at the movement, for he had just lied down, but doesn’t protest. “How? Who?”

“I interrogated Yukhei,” he nonchalantly says.

Even though _interrogation_ comes off as intimidating, Mark is sure they sat together in his living room, while Mark slept, and Donghyuck extracted every detail from Yukhei’s thoughts into a Pensieve. There was nothing easier than inserting oneself into a memory, much easier than constructing a story with words, but it wasn’t the most ethical way to treat a friend.

Upon Mark’s judging silence, Donghyuck grumbles, “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t write it with his real identity. We all are corrupted here, aren’t we? He consumes Euphoria Elixir, performs Healing Magic on a friend that got an illegal tattoo, and you and I, two Aurors, cover up for him.”

By now, Mark must owe Yukhei a thousand favors. He didn’t want to involve his friend in his Auror case so directly, and if he had been awake, he’d have never let Donghyuck rope Yukhei into an interrogatory. It was never pleasant to have someone snoop in your memories.

Mark breathes in, trying to think. Donghyuck sends him a concerned look, so Mark smiles and says, “Sounds like your style.”

“It _is_ my style,” Donghyuck admits. The joke seems to cheer him up, because he presses a lazy peck under Mark’s jaw, and smiles as soon as Mark sighs in pleasure. “And I have to say you’re adapting pretty well, Lee.”

Ignoring his teasing, Mark stares into his eyes. He cups Donghyuck’s face, bringing him closer for a full kiss, just ever so innocent that Mark feels like he could get used to this Donghyuck as well: to routine kisses, to trust kisses, not necessarily full of passion and a whirlwind of emotions. They don’t have to rush through them anymore, they don’t have to make the best of it before Mark breaks down in pain. Mark traps Donghyuck’s warm lips and feels that he has all the time in the world to do this, and that kissing Donghyuck is all he wants to do with all the time in the world, without a doubt.

Donghyuck pulls away, presses his hands on Mark’s abdomen – there where Mark used to concentrate all his tension and pain, a tension that doesn’t exist anymore. Instead, Donghyuck is able to caress the subtle movements of his abdomen, every breath he takes.

“How does it feel now?” Donghyuck asks, hopeful, his eyes never leaving Mark’s face.

“Strangely not painful,” Mark whispers. And then, with a mocking grin, he adds, “I sort of miss it.”

The answer hits Donghyuck in the right places, and he bends forward and collapses on him, laughing harder than Mark has ever heard him. Mark laughs along, because he understands how stupid and dirty and indecent he sounds, but he’d tell Donghyuck again and again as long as it made him this happy.

“Didn’t know you were into that,” Donghyuck jokes back, lips stretched into pure, raw happiness. “I can hurt whenever you want, if you just ask.”

Mark is terrified.

He never thought it was possible to feel a dread as intense as he felt during the war, but he stands tonight in the middle of an underground bar in the alleys of the Knockturn Alley, and realizes that death isn’t the most terrifying outcome he could meet.

The night is a chain of events, one after another, that pile up to reach their worst conclusion.

Mark sits with Donghyuck in one of the big couches stacked in the corners. Around them, there are all kinds of wizards, even wizards that Mark would have never expected to find here. It’s different from the White Wyvern, where people go to have fun without law imposing on them; this place is for those who share a same sin, who are aware of their faults and choose them deliberately, who do not mean to only have fun, but live by their own rules.

If Mark is sick to his stomach, Donghyuck isn’t better than him. He plays his cards better than Mark, but he pales as soon as he sees the children, following their owners like mere pets, some even with identifying chains around their wrists or ankles.

Aware that they can’t start working unless they learn to mingle in the atmosphere first, Mark leads Donghyuck to sit down, his drinks untouched and their hands on each other, the only excuse they can display not to be talking to other customers. Assessing their surroundings doesn’t take them long, but being ready to pretend that they’re as heartless as others, does.

One hour into the meeting, a woman three times bigger than them accommodates in their couch. It’s not an odd move, for all customers share the couches, and Mark sees their opportunity there: trailing after the woman, a boy around fifteen years old stands next to the couch, his attention of the floor. Mark analyzes his demeanor, his attempt at being invisible while being alert of everything that happens around him; instinct, Mark recognizes, instinct to survive.

Sucking on her pipe, the woman stares at Mark, as though he was monitoring _how _he’s evaluating his boy. Mark intuits that it must be a tradition here, to judge other people’s _acquisitions_ and show off their own, so he doesn’t recoil.

“How much was he?” he shoots at the woman, maintaining a level of neutrality in his tone that shocks even himself.

Mark learns, in the span of a second, that it’s a rude question. “Are you interested in getting one?” the woman questions him. She flips the pipe in her hand, and ignoring the initial question, she detours, “He was worth every Galleon.”

A knot grows in Mark’s chest. She describes him like an object, and he hesitates, not only because it’s inhumane, but because he doesn’t know if he can go _that_ low as well.

“We’ve been married for a while,” Donghyuck chirps up then, swirling his smile like a weapon against her. “Probably it’d do us some good to have a kid around.”

The woman scoffs at his logic, and much to Mark’s shock, Donghyuck blinks at her in confusion, playing a role that they didn’t talk about.

“They’re not _children_,” the woman tells Donghyuck, inclining over as though she’s arguing with a kid. Donghyuck lets her, big curious eyes that are disposed to believe anything and everything. “You’re a young couple. You should consider one of the oldest ones, not kids. They’re more expensive, of course, but they can be quite helpful for other matters.”

The insinuation feels like a kick in Mark’s throat, and Donghyuck irremediably tenses up, so slightly that only Mark notices. The transcription only talked about kids, about kids being used as slaves, but there’s more to the story: they have young adults for sexual favors.

“We’re not in need of that,” Mark grumbles, unable to contain his own disapproval.

The woman, however, doesn’t interpret his reaction as displeasure for the idea, but as an offense to his virility. “Maybe not you,” she says, and her eyes roam over Donghyuck’s frame for a second. “You must be plenty satisfied, but your husband might differ.”

Mark is a millisecond away from grabbing his wand, but Donghyuck bursts into laughter, grabs his shoulder with so much force that Mark can’t reach for his wand. It’s a fake laugh, but no one else except Mark would recognize that.

“Darling,” Donghyuck calls him, soothes him, caressing over his arm. Mark doesn’t miss out on how he throws a significant look at the woman, as though it was a secret between them, a need that Mark could never understand. It humors the woman, but Mark doesn’t have the will to connect with any of these persons anymore. “Can I talk with your boy for a bit?”

Perhaps it’s Donghyuck’s Veela manipulation, but against all odds, the woman nods. Mark doesn’t want to go separate ways, but he can’t protest now that the woman has already accepted. It’s a bad sign, a terrible sign, to witness how Donghyuck struts towards the kid and guides him away from the couch, smiling down at him – the kid doesn’t raise his head, however.

The woman observes them until they’re on the other side of the room, Donghyuck squatting down to be at the level of the kid. Only then, the woman focuses her attention back on Mark.

“He’s sweet,” she points out, and her kindness is gone, at last. Mark doesn’t flinch at her manners, for he knows that she’s treating him like an equal, while she was treating Donghyuck like an inferior creature. “I don’t think you should get him a kid. He’ll soften.”

“He’s a Veela,” Mark snarls, and a second later, he can’t help but snort at the insinuation. _Get _him a kid, as if Mark owned Donghyuck. That’s how it works for these wizards. “They look soft, but they don’t soften.”

That silences the woman, but Mark doesn’t relax. He observes Donghyuck, and with a bad inkling, despises the distance between them. Donghyuck has walked too farther away, and they promised they’d stick together to avoid what happened last time; the kid is talking to him, though, and that’s a relief.

“Did he ever try to run away?” Mark asks then, because he wonders if they could convince at least one kid to come with them.

The woman blows a cloud of smoke over her own head, and then pins Mark down with a glare, “Why would he?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

Mark’s heart hammers in his chest. No Auror is perfect, but all Aurors have been subjected to a training that familiarized them with their own mistakes. So Mark, after asking that naïve question, reads his own mistake in the woman’s eyes, a thrumming, destructive mistake.

She snarls, “The Unbreakable Vow would kill him.”

Mark is quick, pulls his wand out, but he’s already in disadvantage. They were being watched, because the spell that flies past by him, when he throws himself to the floor, isn’t casted by the woman. The next one is, however, and Mark barely has any time to scream _Protego!_, stacked on the floor and unable to get up.

His eyes frenetically look for Donghyuck. He doesn’t find him. It takes one spell for chaos to infect every single corner of the pub, and it’s equally good and bad for Mark. People don’t know if the fight started because of a petty argument, or if it was because two infiltrators have made it to a clandestine meeting. Wizards scream at each other, colorful spells fly by, and they blind Mark’s visions.

Mark knows that it’s not the time to be defensive, so when his shield weakens, he doesn’t doubt to attack the woman. She’s covered by her own shield, however, so Mark aims at the couch and screams, “_Confringo_!”

The first thing Mark thinks is that, fuck, he’s definitely going to get a notification for negligence: the couch explodes, an explosion that sends the woman flying through the air and, for that matter, most people around them. Mark is expelled across the floor with so much force that his pants burn from the friction, and he only finds the ending when he crashes against a wall.

“Donghyuck!” Mark screams, stumbling forward to get on his feet. And then, “_Protego_! _Protego_!”

He receives one, two, three spells that bounce on his own protection, and then falls down for the potency of the impact. When he rolls on the floor, the sharp pieces of broken glass nail into his skin, but Mark couldn’t care less in this instant. For once, he’s grateful that Donghyuck is half-Veela, because his hair is like a light in the middle of the night; Mark doesn’t need to focus on his face to know it’s him,

Mark creeps on the floor towards him, not caring about anything else. A spell impacts on his leg, and he screams so hard that Donghyuck twirls his head to look at him, horrified. He’s lying on the floor, too, maintaining the kid’s head down and covered. Mark has no idea what shot him, but he continues moving, and when he’s close enough to grab Donghyuck, he prepares to Apparate.

But Donghyuck lets go of the kid as soon as Mark touches him, and Mark vacillates, not understanding why Donghyuck would do that. Why, under any circumstance, he would abandon the kid. So Mark slaps his arm across them, trying to make contact with the kid, but Donghyuck shouts, “Don’t!”

Before Mark can process what's happening, Donghyuck is Apparating the two of them.

It's quite funny that Donghyuck chooses his own house.

The most logical option would be to Apparate either at Yukhei's house, at St Mungo’s to check that they're fine or at the Auror Department to set the alarm. But he chooses his house, and Mark realizes with a mixture of bitterness and amusement that he fulfilled most of the tasks: they Apparate right at the feet of Renjun's bed, a bed that just happens to be mostly occupied by Yukhei in that exact moment.

Mark can't utter a single word while Yukhei and Renjun run to them, can't even put a thought together until Donghyuck's face invades his sight, lips parted in a rushed, “Your leg.”

“It's nothing,” Mark croaks out. “I think it was just a Severing Charm.”

“_Just_ a Severing Charm,” Donghyuck repeats in what he intends to be exasperation, but the agony his voice carries makes it impossible.

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to jump into field work so soon after recovering from a Dark Scar, because a damn Severing charm has Mark feeling like a broken puppet. Yukhei rips his pants apart with his hands, much to Mark's dismay, just to inspect the wound. From his position, Mark can see blood, but he doesn't see the severity of the cut.

“He's fine,” Yukhei confirms with a sigh. He pats Donghyuck on the back, a consolation that isn't directed to Mark at all; Mark wants to protest, but he admits that Donghyuck looks terribly pitiful. This clandestine meeting was his idea. He led Mark there, he got them into trouble. “An anti-infection charm will be enough.”

“Donghyuck,” Mark calls him. “Stop looking at me like I'm dying and help me up.”

Nibbling on his lower lip, Donghyuck does exactly that. They don't walk too far, however, because Donghyuck orders him to sit on the bed despite Renjun's protests. Renjun is still half-naked, rushing to slip his tiny frame into a pair of pajama pants, and Mark doesn't appreciate having to invade the bed they were _using. _It's that or infuriating Donghyuck, though, and he makes the right decision.

Renjun glowers at Donghyuck and grumbles, “I'm so disappointed in you. Three years of training and you're oh so affected because Lee Mark got a tiny cut in his calf.” And then, with all the malice of the world, he smirks at Mark for a second and adds, “I thought you were into scars.”

It'd be a lie for Mark to deny that he's very close to laughing at such attack, but Donghyuck's offended gasp prevents him from doing so.

“Fuck you,” Donghyuck spits at him, pupils a shadow of scarlet.

Renjun must be used to pissing Donghyuck off, because he doesn't even blink at the signs of Veela danger. “That was my intention, Donghyuck, before you and your boyfriend stormed into my bedroom,” he retorts with all the dignity of the universe, stacking a strand of hair behind his ear.

No one else says a word as Renjun walks out of the room. Mark has a feeling that he shouldn't be worried about this little argument, that it's their simple routine, this time with the addition of a whole boy and an injury, but still routine.

Mark blurts out, “Why did you leave the kid behind?”

He doesn't mean it to be an accusation. It’s _not,_ but shock flashes across Donghyuck's tender features. Donghyuck abandoned the kid on purpose, cut physical contact with him and blocked Mark so that he didn't touch him, just to apparate the two of them. Mark doesn't comprehend why, and the mere idea of that kid going back to the woman's house brings nausea to his throat.

The edges of Donghyuck's jaw harden, but he encircles Mark's neck and brings him into his space, so close that Mark thinks he doesn’t want to be heard. It could be the case.

“We don’t do that, alright? Look at me,” he softly asks, noticing that Mark is avoiding his gaze. His fingertips draw circles on Mark's nape for a few seconds, kneading on the tensed knots of his muscles. “You couldn’t run away with the kid. We don’t know what kind of Unbreakable Vow they made. He could be linked to the whole family, or just to that woman, or maybe not to a person but to a task. He’d die.”

Donghyuck's words sink Mark to the deepest well of regret.

He could have killed a kid because of his impulsive behavior, because he didn't consider all the possibilities; and for fuck’s sake, that’s his job, his only duty. His instinct of protection lighted up among all his other emotions. None of them can afford that, and Donghyuck saved them this time – saved the kid and Mark's mind from spiraling into madness – but next time he might not be able to.

“This isn’t on our hands now,” Donghyuck continues. He presses their foreheads together, sighs in absolute surrender, and says, “We have to consult the Department, and they have to organize a raid. It's a whole network and two Aurors can't take it down.”

It'd be foolish and suicidal to keep on with their mission on their own. The Ministry knew there was something fishy about the drug network, but it's undeniable that they had no idea it was this severe. If they had been aware, they wouldn't have assigned two noobs for the job.

Mark nods, accepting his idea, but it's hard not to show his distress. He leans against Donghyuck's hands, nuzzles his palm and breathes out as Donghyuck strokes his jaw, looking into his eyes with tenderness.

“Donghyuck,” he mutters; his adrenaline is dying off, and without it, Mark feels very tired again.

Calling Donghyuck’s name is enough for him to know what Mark wants to tell him. They don’t need words anymore.

“I know,” Donghyuck mutters back. “Mark, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything, but especially for not staying with you.”

Mark experiences contradictory feelings. A part of him tells him that he should shut Donghyuck’s apology down, that he isn’t more responsible than his counterpart for what happened. But the part of him that loves Donghyuck, that loves and understands who he fell for, wants to laugh at him.

Mark has wondered countless times why they were partnered up. If it wasn’t for the obligatory nature of the pairing process, Donghyuck would have been an excellent loner Auror. Mark used to suspect that it was another trial to measure their resilience, to make sure that they could keep their feud in check for a greater good, but tonight, lost in Donghyuck’s eyes, he understands the real motive. The key is that they don’t _need_ each other, but they’ll do anything for each other. Donghyuck doesn’t need his help, and Mark doesn’t either, but they’ll lend a hand anyway, as annoying and unnecessary as it is.

Smiling to himself, Mark tells him, “It'll always be this way.” He hopes it is, because then they wouldn’t have changed for each other, and Mark likes it that way. Donghyuck tilts his head to the side, confused, but not interrupting him, and Mark continues, “You'll say, _no, Lee, I will stick to our plan this time, you have to trust me._ But you won't do it, and we'll end up on Renjun's bed, spoiling his sheets with blood and making his life a living hell.”

It’s pretty satisfying to notice how Donghyuck’s cheeks are painted a subtle pink. Mark never thought that among all his faults, this would be the one that would make him embarrassed: his incorrigible disobedience.

“It’s not my thing to stick to the rules,” Donghyuck reminds him.

Mark brushes his thumb over Donghyuck’s blush, and smiles down at him. “That’s my thing, yes.”

Donghyuck only needs to take a quick glance to his lips to betray his own thoughts. Mark rejoices in his hesitation, in how he waits for Mark to take the next step, perhaps because he’s afraid that Mark hasn’t forgiven him. Because Mark isn’t giving him forgiveness, even if it’s just because he believes he isn’t at fault.

“I stick to the rules,” Mark begins, watching how Donghyuck’s eyes widen at the recognition. Mark has many flaws, but bad memory isn’t one of them; and he remembers every word, every moment he lived with Donghyuck, from beginning to end. Donghyuck has always thought that Mark disregards his opinions and his words as mere tall tales, but Mark grasps his words and keeps them, and now hurls them at him, “And you skip them. I care about consequences, you don’t. So you pull me, and I pull you back, and that’s how we find balance.”

Donghyuck’s lips stretch into a smile, his rosy cheeks swelling up. Mark kisses there first, a chaste, sweet peck on his cheek, and then travels down to Donghyuck’s mouth, where his lips wait for Mark with a sinful promise. It was never about forgiving each other, and still, all of Mark’s wounds die in Donghyuck’s mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t have me,” Donghyuck challenges him. He curls his tongue over his lower lip, teeth following after, and Mark nearly releases him. Donghyuck’s smile grows more defiant, careless. “Not because I won’t let you, but because you’re not brave enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont know, guys, i swear the epilogue was going to be a simple pwp. and then days passed and it became 8k and it's still mostly porn, anyway? so this is what this is about. markhyuck fuck. and the fic is... over! thank you all for reading :D

“Did you know that Veelas have mating cycles?”

Mark should have seen that coming but, accommodated and used to having Donghyuck around, he didn’t.

He swears that sooner or later, out of boredom, they’ll end up getting a report for their behavior in the office; not because Mark’s conduct is reproachable, but Donghyuck has a tendency to bring up indecent topics when they’re working. It’s just a matter of time someone will report his nasty ass.

This time Mark is overwhelmed by the question, however. Donghyuck isn’t just dropping a curious fact on him: he has an aim. And even if Mark would rather to ignore the incessant voice that tells him that he’s free to touch Donghyuck all he wants, he can’t. The guilt is there: Mark has blocked any and every advance Donghyuck has made on him, and Donghyuck isn’t dumb, so of course he has caught on his rejection.

It’s called fear of performance, Mark has convinced himself, and he doesn’t understand why Donghyuck isn’t experiencing the same. He has wanted to sleep with Donghyuck for so long that he’s afraid that it’ll be a disaster. That he’ll be overexcited. That he won’t be enough, because Donghyuck has had a friend sharing his bed for years and they must have learned everything the other liked to perfection.

Mark knows _nothing_.

“What?” Mark muses, choking on his own saliva.

He turns around in his cubicle, hands pressing on the documents in front of him, and blatantly glares at a smiling Donghyuck. Anyone would think that Donghyuck is an angel, but he’s not; he’s the devil, he’s too smart, and knows Mark’s weaknesses as if he had carved them himself.

“I said, Veelas have mating cycles,” Donghyuck repeats, pronouncing every word slow enough to draw Mark’s attention to his lips. His stare doesn’t stray away from him, as though he intends to revel in every second of Mark’s embarrassment. “Are you alright, Lee? Breathing and all?”

The mocking doesn’t have a strong effect on Mark, since he’s already dealing with worse. He’s aware of what Donghyuck is insinuating: that they’ve ignored the elephant in the room for too long, that he wants sex, and that by nature, he’ll _need_ it at some point.

Mark points at Donghyuck’s desk and grumbles, “Focus on your work, Veela.”

It’s not easy for Mark either.

Donghyuck is made to be wished, and Mark wishes. More often than not, Donghyuck stays over, always at Mark’s house, since it’s the only place where they have true privacy. Even though Mark loves Donghyuck’s house, Renjun is always around, disposed to bother them to get revenge on the many times that, like he says, they’ve spoiled him a great night. Despite the amount of time that Donghyuck spends over at his place, he doesn’t bring his belongings with him. And much to Mark’s despair, that includes his clothes. He wears Mark’s clothes, provoking a smell that is a mixture of himself and Mark, and sometimes he wears little to nothing just to get an irk out of him.

Mark doesn’t protest, but it turns him crazy. Donghyuck crawling on his bed only in a t-shirt, Donghyuck entangled with him, skin against skin without pain, feeling every inch of his body. Donghyuck’s bare thighs straddling him, asking to be caressed, to be hold. And yet, Mark can’t touch him further than strokes and kisses. Donghyuck _tries_, slides down his torso and presses kisses on his stomach, tugs at the waistband of his underwear to let Mark know what he wants, but Mark always stops him.

He takes care of it later, when he’s alone, pants down and his dick in his hand until he comes with Donghyuck’s name on his lips. It’s terribly easy to come to the thought of Donghyuck spread for him, and that’s exactly what scares him.

“What’s the issue?” Yukhei asks him on a night out in the Leaky Cauldron. It’s only Yukhei, Jaehyun and Mark, because everyone else was too busy to waste another night drinking, but Mark is grateful for that. It’s less shameful to share such a private problem when only a couple of his friends are there. “Fuck him through the mating cycle, then.”

Mark presses his lips into a line, not knowing what to answer. It makes sense that this is Yukhei’s reasoning. In their eyes, this isn’t a problem at all. Mark shares most of his time with Donghyuck, so it’s natural to think that they’re intimate on all the levels they could be.

Perhaps it’s Mark’s silence, or perhaps it’s just his expression, but Jaehyun gasps a, “You haven’t fucked the Veela yet?”

Under his friends’ judging stares, Mark leans back with a groan. Not even the Firewhisky in front of him would be able to cheer him up, but he grips it anyhow as Yukhei pushes the glass towards him, openly laughing at him. Mark swallows half of his drink in one go, and yet the burning in his throat doesn’t console him.

“It’s been two months,” Yukhei reminds him. Two months since they decided to be _official_. Not at work, of course, because it was against the rules. It was an open secret anyhow, just unspeakable. No one dared to tell Donghyuck what he had to do, so their superiors were pretending not to know. “What kind of person wouldn’t have fucked him? Have you _seen_ him?”

Mark scoffs, thinking that maybe he should tell Renjun about Yukhei’s opinion on Donghyuck. It would surely be pay back.

“He’s my boyfriend, yes, I’ve seen him,” he shoots back.

Yukhei looks far from ashamed, since he responds with a shrug and a smile. Instead it’s Jaehyun who settles a hand on his shoulder, either as consolation or as sympathy, and continues, “His Veela effect still intimidates you.” It’s not a lie. Donghyuck’s Veela is always going to make him crazy, even if he has the decency not to use his powers on Mark. “Look at me, Mark.”

Mark begrudgingly glances at Jaehyun and grumbles, “I’m looking at you.”

Unlike Yukhei, Jaehyun doesn't find the situation that funny. In fact, he seems to be a bit worried for him, which doesn't help Mark's ego at all.

Jaehyun leans over as to look deeper into his eyes, and assures, “It’s not that big of a deal.” And perhaps he's right, but Mark has twisted his thoughts for so long, so intricately that he's incapable of agreeing with him. Upon Mark's transparent frustration, Jaehyun sighs, “Donghyuck _feels_, just like you, and it’s not going to be a test.”

Yukhei lets out a small noise of agreement, “Yeah, you’ve spent most of your life trying to prove how good you are, and that you’re better than him.” He sips on his beer, sends Jaehyun a significant look so that he lets go of Mark – like he's his father, or his teacher, because he's aware that Mark doesn't need to be diminished right now. “But he's your boyfriend now, as you said. If he's better than you in anything, or in everything for that matter, you'll just have to bite your tongue and swallow the hard pill.”

It's against Mark's nature, or at least against the nature he has developed towards Donghyuck. Even in their cases, there's always a fight for proceeding in their own way, and for proving who was right or wrong afterwards. Mark can't admit that Donghyuck gets on his nerves sometimes, but their fights always end up in furious kisses and hickeys sucked on visible places, so Mark doesn't have the heart to stop fighting altogether.

Donghyuck and he are meant to be at war, always.

“Besides, if he fucks better than you,” Yukhei adds, not batting an eyelash at his own language. He lifts his eyebrows at Mark, as to challenge him to contradict that it's what he fears, “you can't really complain, mate.”

“This is the fucking worst case we’re ever going to have,” Donghyuck protests, a glass of red wine in his hand and the most bored expression Mark has seen him wear in years. Perhaps only Hogwarts' speeches can compete against today's boredom, but Mark would never point that out: his secret stolen glances at Donghyuck when they were in Hogwarts are no one's business, not even Donghyuck's.

Their case isn't boring per se, but attending political parties to discover the damn dark wizard that stole a Muggle politician's identity surely is. They have a few suspects, but it's difficult to pinpoint weird behavior when, Mark has discovered, most Muggle politicians are complete freaks. And on top of that, both of them hate wearing suits. Donghyuck looks pretty good in his, however.

“You're so dramatic,” Mark casually throws at him.

Donghyuck knows he is, but that doesn't stop him from glowering at Mark. “I despise politics,” he insists. He tugs at his tie, uncomfortable, eyes inspecting the party hall with a determination that results scary. “It only brings trouble.”

“We're not here for politics anyhow, Veela.”

Rather than listening to him, Donghyuck continues embedded in his own bubble. After letting go of his tie, he grabs Mark's tie to adjust it, and Mark resignedly indulges that small moment of entertainment for him. They will have to erase everyone's memory after the part, like they have to do every time, so it doesn't matter much if they get caught being affectionate with each other.

“This isn't the right mission for me, you know?” Donghyuck whispers, distracted. He's talking more to himself than to Mark, so Mark limits himself to hum. “I can't spy on anyone when literally all people in the room are looking at me.”

Mark smirks at him. “Arrogant.”

“It's a fact.”

“I'm not saying it's not,” Mark strokes Donghyuck's hands away from him, so smoothly that it takes Donghyuck a moment to realize that he's being rejected. Mark has always been the one to stick to the rational rules of their plans, while Donghyuck loves improvising and asking for kisses and laughing when Mark doesn't know how to get out of compromising situations. “But try not to mention it so often, it ticks my jealousy.”

It's a joke, and Donghyuck knows that. He never wastes an opportunity though, and Mark regrets his words as soon as he detects the shift in Donghyuck's gaze.

“Your jealousy?” he repeats, so sweetly that his tone slips into Veela ground. Mark feels a shiver travel all over his body, takes a breath to calm down, and then returns to the depth of Donghyuck's brown eyes. “I can fix that in a second, Lee.”

It's a trap.

Mark isn't a fool, or maybe he is, but it's not the first time Donhyuck pulls one of his tricks in the middle of a mission. There's nothing more dangerous and thrilling than a bored Veela, and god, Mark is supposed to keep him under control at times like these. That's why they were paired up. Still, his lack of authority doesn't come from how weak he is for Donghyuck; it's just that no one understands the power of having Donghyuck look at you through his eyelashes, a slight pout that rather than being cute, it's obscene, tempting. Mark can't deny him anything if Donghyuck really wants it. He doesn't even have to push his Veela charms too hard: it takes a couple of caresses, a gaze, and Mark is on his knees. Metaphorically, until now.

“We can't,” Mark manages to groan, every word grazing his throat against his will.

That's the last thing he remembers before pushing Donghyuck against a desk.

They destroy half of the office before they make it to the desk, but it's hard to care when Donghyuck's mouth is on his neck and his hands are on Donghyuck’s ass. They'll erase everyone's memories, Mark reminds himself. No one will remember that these two boys passing as representatives disappeared in the middle of the party, that they walked through the halls until they found an open door, and that Mark almost hurt himself from the force he used against the desk.

Donghyuck wraps his legs around him, begging for contact, and Mark has to push him on his back in fear that Donghyuck will make him lose his mind too early. Surprise strikes across Donghyuck's face for a second, realizing how harsh Mark was on him, but then he lets out a dry laugh, his hair disheveled over the table and his tie undone.

Mark won't admit it out loud, but he looks a delicious sort of crazy.

“You act like a Slytherin sometimes, Lee Mark,” he observes, licking his lips as he watches Mark bend down for a kiss. Donghyuck welcomes him, all tongue and no shame, and sucks on his lower lip before pushing him away. “Though it takes some courage to do this to me.”

It's impossible to guess what he's referring to. It could be about shoving him onto desks, not letting him have the control, or it could be about torturing him with kisses and touches and nothing else, again and again.

Mark doesn't have time to ask him, because Donghyuck leads his head down, forcing him to kiss his neck instead, and Mark complies right away. Donghyuck tastes sweet, he always does, and he sounds even sweeter when Mark sucks on his neck. After so many kisses, Mark has learned his most sensitive spots, so he sucks right over his carotid. Usually Mark fools around for longer, so Donghyuck lets out a gasp both in surprise and pleasure, and his hands come up to grab at Mark's hair, torn between pulling and pushing. That’s until Mark moves onto his mouth once more, finds Donghyuck flushing red, panting, and they entangle in a messy kiss through heavy breaths. Taking advantage of Mark’s distraction, Donghyuck’s legs try to surround his hips again; this time Mark doesn’t oppose resistance, but he knows how dangerous it is. Donghyuck wants to touch him because the moment Mark gets hard, it’s going to be impossible to say no.

“We shouldn't be here,” Mark mutters against Donghyuck’s mouth. “Should be working.”

Judging the way Donghyuck brings him closer until Mark is pressed between his legs, he disagrees. “No shit,” he grunts, far from amused at the interruption. He pecks Mark’s upper lip, much tender that Mark has expected. “Don't stop.”

There is only one reason why Donghyuck would ask for that: he knows that Mark is going to pull away. He wonders if Donghyuck has memorized his behavior right before a rejection, if there are clear signs of his cowardice, before spoiling up their private moments.

Mark leans his forehead on Donghyuck’s neck, and sighs a defeated, “Donghyuck.”

“Don't,” Donghyuck repeats, unable to hide the trace of anger that tints his voice. _Don’t apologize_, he’s trying to say, because he’s not going to forgive him. Mark detaches from him, from his body, because it’s not a good idea to make Donghyuck angry and stay close. He’s right: when he looks into Donghyuck’s eyes, they’re scarlet. “Fuck, Mark, why do you have to stop every time?”

The question isn’t about tonight, about now, it’s beyond that. Mark isn’t ready to answer that, because he’ll sound childish and insecure, and overall it’ll make Donghyuck feel bad. As though he’s at fault.

“You're being unreasonable,” Mark mumbles. He avoids Donghyuck’s glare, focuses on ironing his own suit, which Donghyuck has managed to mess up in a record time, and tries to regain his own pride. “We can't fuck on the desk of a Muggle politician's office, alright?”

Donghyuck understands that he’s not being logical, yet that doesn’t mean he’s not mad. Of course they could fuck right there: Donghyuck’s spread on the desk, sitting up on his elbows, and the amount of undone buttons on his shirts are proof of it. It’s just that Mark doesn’t have the guts to go on. He doesn't want his first time with Donghyuck to be in a rush either, in a cold office, out of pure lust. It'd make for a good story, but not for a good memory.

Yukhei would have a thousand insults for Mark if he witnessed this.

“Not here,” Donghyuck says. He clenches his jaw, closes his eyes, and jumps out of the desk. Mark immediately reaches for him to help him button up, but Donghyuck slaps his hands away without even granting him a glance. Once he finishes, fingers trembling, he grabs his jacket and walks past Mark to the door. He casts a look back at Mark, eyes redder than before, and spits, “And not at home, apparently.”

By then, Mark has discovered that when Donghyuck is truly hurt, he avoids confrontation.

Unlike in the past, Donghyuck isn't a kid who will fight back no matter if he's wrong or right. Therefore, Mark is lost. He's good with confrontations, or at least _better_, than with silence and unspoken reproaches. It makes Donghyuck excessively unreachable, and he resorts to being professional instead; that's how Mark knows that he has upset him for real. Donghyuck would never be silent or serious at work unless their superiors were present, but now all he talks about is their missions, their duties, their paperwork. Mark attempts to break the ice a few times just to be faced with a glare and complete disregard.

Mark knows he deserves it, somehow. He hasn't given Donghyuck a single explanation of why he refuses to touch him. It makes no sense, not after Mark went through an illegal procedure with his blood just so that they could touch without pain, so that they could have the fulfilling relationship both of them wanted. Mark knows too that Donghyuck feels horrible for pressuring him, so he's both angry at himself and at Mark. The main difference is that Donghyuck is being crystal clear.

“What did you do to him?” Yukhei asks him. “Imagine having a mad Veela at home, I'd shit my pants.”

Mark isn’t even sure of why he accepted Jaemin’s invitation to the Quidditch match, but he regrets it as soon as they’re at the stadium. He supposes that it’d have been odd if he had declined, though, because Yukhei was accompanying Renjun and that meant that Donghyuck was _alone_ to go. Jeno couldn’t join them, because Mark knew for a fact that he was in the middle of a mission with Doyoung. Jaemin, who got free tickets all the time because of his magazine, wasn’t going to be with them, and so Mark would have felt guilty staying at home with nothing to do when he should be with his boyfriend.

This is a small punishment, or it seems to be. Donghyuck and Renjun are attached at the hip, go around the stadium to buy food, tangled up in their conversation. Mark sits with Yukhei, casting glances at Donghyuck when he’s not looking – most of the time, for he’s immersed in the game instead. Holyhead Harpies versus Tutshill tornados. Mark had no idea that Donghyuck was a fan of the Holyhead Harpies, and he can’t help but appreciate how excited he looks, whether Mark’s presence is bothering him or not.

“You're so elegant,” Mark muses. He watches Renjun whisper into Donghyuck’s ear, and then both of them burst into laughter, and an idea pops up. “Didn’t Renjun tell you anything?”

Yukhei side eyes him, expression so blank that Mark doesn’t buy it.

“He did,” he accuses Yukhei, wrapping a hand around his arm. His façade breaks and Yukhei whines a bit, aware that Mark’s begging can become a nightmare. “Spill.”

Truth to be told, Mark would swear that Yukhei wants to help him. It’s his best friend after all, and he doesn’t wish to see Mark suffer, but in a couple of seconds he’s mumbling, “It’s not my place to do so.”

Mark stares at him. “You’re loyal to Renjun.” And Renjun is loyal to Donghyuck. Mark is the only one who loses in the chain. “Over me.”

Yukhei snickers at that, and his eyes momentarily fall on Renjun, who has moved onto bickering with Donghyuck.

“His offers are better than yours,” he concludes, ignoring the disgust that blooms in Mark’s face. “Just fix your shit, Lee.”

In two months, Donghyuck has developed a lot of _bad habits_, so when they arrive at Mark’s home later that night, he follows all of them.

While Mark hangs up his jacket with a flick of his wand, Donghyuck throws his on the console table. He leaves his keys there too, which he always carries – even though he can enter Mark’s house just by Apparating, Mark thought it was a decent move to make keys for him as well in case he ever wanted to behave like a polite person.

The rift in their routine is that tonight, Donghyuck doesn’t turn around to face him. He stays frozen by the console table, as though he had just remembered that they’re not on good terms and that, despite attending the Quidditch match together, Donghyuck should sleep at his own house.

Mark doesn’t hesitate: he strides towards him, embraces Donghyuck from behind, and rests his head on his shoulder. Donghyuck relaxes against him, an involuntary sigh escaping his mouth, and Mark holds him tighter.

At first, Mark doesn’t say anything. He wishes he knew the right words to make their problems vanish. They’re such petty, insignificant problems compared to what they’ve gone through, and Mark can’t believe he’s being this stubborn.

“You had fun today, didn’t you?” Mark whispers at last, cradling his head to press a kiss on Donghyuck’s cheek.

Donghyuck hums, pleased either at the kiss or at the question. He slides his hands over Mark’s hands on his abdomen, as to make sure that Mark stays with him, and Mark turns his palm around and intertwines fingers with him.

“I did,” he confirms. Mark presses another kiss, this time on his jaw line, doesn’t try to hide the smile on his lips. Donghyuck notices that Mark is smiling against his skin, that he’s smiling just because Donghyuck was happy today, and he lifts his left hand to cradle Mark’s head against him with a caress. “I used to attend these matches with my brother, you know? Our mother was friends with Jaemin’s father, so we’ve been getting free tickets since I was a toddler.”

It’s not necessary for Donghyuck to tell him that it has been a long time since he went to a Quidditch match, however. Mark can tell, for that explains Donghyuck’s behavior today. He supposes that it was a little scar for him, too, to go back to a place that held so many good memories with his broken family.

“No wonder you’re so crazy about Quidditch,” Mark remarks. Donghyuck lets out a small laugh, embarrassed for what Mark might have witnessed today. His enthusiasm. Happiness. “We should go more often. I like seeing you like that.”

“Someone likes his free tickets, right, Lee?” Donghyuck teases him.

Mark scoffs to himself, because he couldn’t care less about Quidditch. Even in Hogwarts, he often skipped the matches to complete his prefect duties. It was amazing how the castle emptied during that time, how calm and lonely it became. When he kissed Donghyuck in the secret passage, he remembers, everyone else was attending the last match of the year: Ravenclaw versus Slytherin. The fact that Donghyuck missed out on his own house’s victory should have been very revealing to Mark, but he was quite obtuse.

Enjoying the silence that hovers over them, Mark allows Donghyuck a moment of peace, of just them two hugging each other at home, not talking, not worrying about their missions. It’s in moments like these that Mark swallows reality: Donghyuck is in his arms, and he loves him. He never imagined he’d reach this point with him, and yet he can’t imagine his life without him anymore. He never had a life in which Donghyuck didn’t exist, anyway.

And exactly because of that, Mark gathers the courage to say, “We have to talk about it.”

After days of avoiding the topic, Donghyuck surrenders. He twirls around, still in Mark’s embrace, and rests against the console table. What Mark recognizes in his eyes hurts him, for Donghyuck is tired, maybe perhaps tired of him or just tired of trying, but that fuels his determination.

With all his sincerity, Mark says, “I’m sorry, Donghyuck.”

Considering the confused, panicked look on Donghyuck’s face, that’s not what he’s expecting from him.

“No,” Donghyuck hisses, a furrow creasing between his eyebrows. He holds Mark’s face between his hands, and his eyes trace every inch until they fix in Mark’s pitiful gaze. “Don’t apologize. I can’t force you to sleep with me.”

Mark almost bites his own tongue out of surprise. “You’re not forcing me-”

“I was just messing with you, Lee,” Donghyuck cuts him off, serious. “I’m half-Veela, I don’t have a mating cycle.”

The revelation is too blunt for Mark to process it fast enough. Following Donghyuck’s reasoning is difficult, but Mark gives himself a second and immediately _comprehends_. Donghyuck is supposing that his joke about having a mating cycle pressured Mark into sex, which isn’t true. It scared him for sure, but he was aware that Donghyuck would never condition his will that way.

But god, he’d be a liar if he said it isn’t a relief.

It’s impossible for Mark not to cackle at that, to shake his head at how silly Donghyuck can be sometimes. “I can’t believe this,” he mutters under his breath.

“You were worrying about us,” Donghyuck excuses himself with the beginning of a moan. That wakes Mark up from his own thoughts, because Donghyuck will use any weapons to get the forgiveness that he doesn’t need. Mark was never angry at him for that, and he’s not now either, but Donghyuck insists in a hurry, “About fucking me, specifically. So I was trying to give you an excuse, but I guess you didn’t want an excuse either?”

Mark looks down at Donghyuck, at the subtle desperation in his face – so well concealed that only years of observation granted Mark the ability to see through it – and has the burning urge to cover him in kisses. Donghyuck was trying to make things easier for him, he was worried about him.

“I’m not worrying,” Mark assures him, _lies_.

Donghyuck believes him, however, and that’s a sign that he’s not as rational and level-headed as he usually is. Mark has rarely seen him so vulnerable, so he curls a hand around his nape and brings him into a kiss. It’s a chaste kiss, just to feel the warmth of Donghyuck’s lips, but Donghyuck melts into it as if they hadn’t kissed in days. That triggers Mark’s realization: they haven’t kissed that often, in fact, and he feels unbearably deprived as well.

Donghyuck sneaks his arms around him, gazing into his eyes, and asks, “Don’t you want to?”

“Of course I want to,” Mark answers right away. He’s dying to touch Donghyuck in all ways possible, he can’t deny that, and all his worries seem irrelevant with Donghyuck in front of him, so hopeful that Mark finds him lovely. “I’m making this a bigger deal than it is, aren’t I?”

Donghyuck moves his head side to side, almost imperceptibly. “If sex is a big deal for you, then it is. It’s not a bad thing.”

Mark is blank for a few seconds. Donghyuck’s words don’t make sense, until they do, and Mark is close to having a laughter attack.

“I don’t mean sex,” he half-laughs, half-whines. Donghyuck looks at him with wide eyes, lost, and that makes the truth slip out. “I mean you.”

Donghyuck, who he has been attracted to since he was twelve, who has given him a hundred sleepless nights for the worse when they were kids, and for the better after Hogwarts. Donghyuck, who still takes his breath away every time Mark looks at him, no matter if he’s dressing to impress or if he’s drooling over Mark’s pillow after a night out. Donghyuck, who is staring at him with his mouth half-open, taken by surprise by Mark’s sincerity.

“Oh,” Donghyuck breathes out. He caresses down Mark’s back, more as if he’s lost his strength rather than to console him. Mark is flustered as Donghyuck takes in his words, but then Donghyuck squints at him, confusion washed away. “Wait. This is the new version of _I kiss Donghyuck and then run away from him because I’m scared of my own feelings_?”

Mark freezes.

“Shit,” he hisses. Donghyuck has hit jackpot, when not even Mark had identified the real problem. It’s not a soothing revelation: Mark isn’t afraid only of not being good enough for Donghyuck, he’s scared of how intense the experience will be. “When you put it like that-”

It’s irremediable. A ray of doubt is all Lee Donghyuck needs to eat him up, all he has ever needed to play with advantage and bring Mark down, so Mark isn’t surprised at the smirk that slowly spreads on his face. Donghyuck _loves_ that Mark afraid of his feelings; Donghyuck is used to having men fall to his knees for him, and Mark has always been the exception until now. It’s his expertise. He can manage that.

“What’s there to fear, Lee?” he whispers, faking his tone of worry. He gives Mark a little push on his chest to put some distance between, but when Mark backs away, Donghyuck steps forward. It takes Mark a moment to understand that Donghyuck is moving him towards the couch, but he can’t protest as Donghyuck looks up at him, his lower lip locked under his teeth. “I promise you won’t die between my legs.”

Mark’s breath catches in his throat. He lets out a small nervous laugh, and as he speaks again, his voices dies out, “I’m not so sure.”

Donghyuck doesn’t care about that. He corners him against the back of the couch, smartly watching how Mark grips at the edge until his knuckles turn white, as though he’s avoiding touching Donghyuck.

He is. Donghyuck’s Veela is flourishing before him, drawing every one of his thoughts to him, and Mark is incapable of shaking them off. He looks at Donghyuck’s lips, so well defined and round and familiar, and he thinks that despite not deserving him, he wants him so bad. And then Donghyuck is pressing against him, pressing Mark against the couch so hard that Mark has to let go of the edge and hold Donghyuck instead. He feels Donghyuck’s body, warm through the clothes, and remembers how many times he has undressed him in his imagination.

“Do you remember that night at my house?” Donghyuck asks him in a whisper, lips hovering over his. How could Mark forget? It has been his fuel for two months. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About all the things I wanted you to do to me.”

Mark closes his eyes, trying to grasp at his sanity. Donghyuck’s chest vibrates against his body, but he doesn’t emit any laughter. When Mark faces Donghyuck’s expression again, he has unconsciously wrapped his arms around him, has hold him so tight that Donghyuck’s thigh strokes over his crotch. It’s not unintentional, Mark knows that, but he can’t help but tense at the contact, affected.

“I wanted too,” Mark hoarsely replies. His attention drifts farther away from the conversation, and he has to make an effort to keep his feet on the ground, not to lose himself in Donghyuck’s charms.

“_You wanted too_?” Donghyuck repeats with a shade of mockery. He observes Mark’s befuddled face, the confusion and transparent lust in his semblance. “I know you did. You wanted me even before that, when we were in Hogwarts, and also afterwards.”

His words burn every fiber of Mark’s body from head to toe. Donghyuck has been in his fantasies since he was a teen. They were innocent at first, but Mark saw him grow up into someone different, and that stayed with him after graduation.

Donghyuck pecks his lips, patient, and lowers his head when Mark chases after his mouth for a kiss. Mark feels ashamed at the rejection, at the chasing game Donghyuck wants to play with him, but he’s too far gone to indulge his tricks. That’s the reason he grabs Donghyuck’s chin with one hand and forces his head up, provoking an immediate light of defiance in Donghyuck’s eyes, his amusement fading away. He likes that. Trying to control Donghyuck, and Donghyuck rebelling against it. It’s always been that way for them.

“Do you think I’m a fool?” Donghyuck continues. Mark’s grip on him doesn’t loose, but Donghyuck speaks regardless of the tension around his jaw, moves against Mark’s strength to rile him up. His eyes flash purple, not red, as he sing-songs, “I knew you thought about me all the time. I bet you thought of me even when you were with Ten.”

The torrent of emotions that cut through Mark is overwhelming, unstoppable. He doesn’t freeze upon the challenge, not this time, and the next thing he processes is that he’s switched positions with Donghyuck, shoving him against the back of the couch. Donghyuck has what he was looking for, and still he gasps in surprise at Mark for an ephemeral moment.

“Shut that mouth of yours, Veela,” Mark tells him. His fingers shake at the strength he’s using, but Donghyuck doesn’t relent, and even the beginning of a smirk takes over his lips before Mark slides his thumb over them. “You heard me?”

Donghyuck isn’t made to listen. He could bend Mark on his knees right now if he wanted to, just using his Veela charms. But it’s his Veela side what has pushed Mark to the edge, and so Donghyuck uses a more direct strategy. Unable to speak anymore because of Mark’s hand on his mouth, he taps on Mark’s chest, fingertips running down his torso, until he reaches the bulge in his pants. Donghyuck isn’t tender: he clutches Mark’s dick through the pants, eyes fixed on his face, so hard that Mark’s strength dies down and he groans against his will.

Able to move his mouth again, Donghyuck smiles at him, smiles at how Mark isn’t removing his hand from his dick.

“You’re so afraid of being one of those men I can control, that wish me like they could ever have me, but _can’t_,” Donghyuck spews, all the intention to insult him. One of those men that Donghyuck would rile up and then throw aside. He palms Mark’s growing erection, his hands skillful despite the barrier; it’s not the first time he does this, after all. “Maybe you are, Lee, aren’t you?”

Mark sees red, grabs Donghyuck by the waist and by his hair and drags him away from the couch. Donghyuck moans as he’s shoved against the closest wall, but Mark detects the hint of amusement in his eyes, as if Mark’s hurt pride was a delight for him. And that’s what he does at last: laugh as Mark pulls his hair back, lips parting for him.

“You’re so fucking disrespectful,” Mark says, but he doesn’t care about that anymore. Just about proving that Donghyuck is wrong, that he has always been, even if he laughs and laughs and looks at Mark with the certainty of knowing every one of his weak points.

“You can’t have me,” Donghyuck challenges him. He curls his tongue over his lower lip, teeth following after, and Mark nearly releases him. Donghyuck’s smile grows more defiant, careless. “Not because I won’t let you, but because you’re not brave enough.”

That’s the last insult Mark allows him to spit. It’s not the kiss what shuts Donghyuck up, though Mark kisses with an amount of impatience improper of him, it’s Mark lifting him up against the wall. Donghyuck holds onto his shoulders with a little surprised noise that gets lost in Mark’s mouth.

And Mark knows, as Donghyuck desperately sucks into his mouth, that Donghyuck can never win this little game of his. Donghyuck wants him, has never wanted someone that much before, and he’ll do anything to get him: insult him, make him jealous, challenge him. He’ll fight until he’s allowed to surrender to him, and surrendering is what he does now.

Mark loses track of what they’re doing. He kisses Donghyuck against the wall, kisses him against the door of his bedroom for what feels an eternity – he’s not able to find the doorknob, because his hands are drawn to Donghyuck’s body instead – and it’s Donghyuck who opens the door at last with a frustrated groan. Donghyuck tugs him by the hem of his shirt, his gaze devouring all of Mark, from his messy hair to his lips, from his neck to his hips, and then to his crotch.

It’s hard to keep track of what he’s doing, so when Donghyuck hits the back of his knees with the edge of the bed and falls back, he doesn’t remember unbuttoning Donghyuck’s shirt. Nor does he remember sucking a flaming red hickey over his collarbone.

“You’re so stubborn,” Mark complains. Donghyuck sends him a devilish, broken smile, and lifts his feet so that Mark removes his shoes for him. “And manipulative.”

Just because you want to be manipulated, Donghyuck’s eyes seem to say, and Mark agrees. He’s manipulated into stripping Donghyuck bit by bit, into kissing every inch of skin that he reveals, so smooth and warm that Mark can’t get enough. He’s manipulated into allowing Donghyuck to tug at his shirt first and then at his pants, into climbing onto him, their lips connected and his heart racing.

Mark doesn’t waste time. He has already seen Donghyuck naked, so he lifts Donghyuck’s hips and slips his underwear off, and watches Donghyuck give a last kick to get rid of his underwear. He looks pretty, prettier than usual, perhaps because Mark is on top of him and he loves the view, or perhaps because he has lost control of his Veela side.

Bending down to lock lips with him is a mistake, because that leaves him at the right position for Donghyuck to reach out for his dick. Mark moans into the kiss, arches his back as Donghyuck’s fingers wrap around his length, and gives into his touch. It’s almost embarrassing how he fucks into Donghyuck’s hand without hesitation, but he feels too relieved to care.

“You’re so hard,” Donghyuck muses, almost like an afterthought.

Mark is torn between scoffing at or mocking him, because Donghyuck himself is incredibly hard himself.

“I’ve been hard since I kissed you,” he reminds him.

Donghyuck jerks his hand around him painfully slowly, his gaze on Mark’s face to catch every one of his reactions. The spark that Mark has met before is there: Donghyuck wants to be pleased but overall, he wants to please Mark first.

“That easy, huh?” Donghyuck says. Mark hums in agreement, too broken to refute him, and sinks his head in the crook of his neck. The mere brush of his abdomen over Donghyuck’s dick pulls a weak moan out of him, and Mark has to bite down on his skin to contain the urge of thrusting faster. “I guess- two months was too much foreplay.”

Mark can’t even laugh at his joke. “Donghyuck,” he calls him, trying to breath deep. “Do-”

“Get lube,” Donghyuck cuts him off, aware that Mark is begging for _something_. Mark can barely raise his head to look into his eyes, but he does as soon as Donghyuck lets go of his dick. “Don’t come in my hand, that’d be so unfair.”

Mark tries to remember where the lube is, but he’s in a daze, too hypnotized by Donghyuck’s eyes to reason. Donghyuck waits for him anyhow, and Mark rolls off him to rummage in the drawer. It takes him less than a minute of trembling hands to find it by luck, and when he turns around, the lube almost falls from his hands.

Donghyuck has spread his legs apart and up, on full display as he tries to finger himself. Without lube, he’s not very successful, only one finger in and his eyes shut close at the sensation, but the obscenity of all it makes a knot grow in Mark’s throat.

“Fuck,” Mark curses, protests. He brings Donghyuck’s legs down again, interrupting him, and Donghyuck opens his eyes to glare at him. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Be fast,” Donghyuck retorts, sounding whiny rather than demanding.

Mark doesn’t have any intention to go slow, and Donghyuck’s permission is more than he needs to pounce on that chance. He soaks his fingers in lube, and before Donghyuck can prepare for it, he strokes between Donghyuck’s cheeks. Not warm enough, the lube makes Donghyuck squirm a bit, jut his thighs together, but he merrily opens up after a second.

Donghyuck might have been too harsh on himself, yet that’s an advantage as Mark slips his middle finger in. Midway, Donghyuck groans so loud that Mark startles, afraid of having hurt him, but Mark takes a glance at Donghyuck and recognizes shame, only shame, on his expression.

Then it clicks. Donghyuck is going to be_ loud_.

“You have-” Donghyuck begins, flushing red. He stutters through his words, every inch of Mark’s fingers pushing inside him. “_Shit_. You have pretty- hands.”

Mark doesn’t understand the compliment right now, maybe because all his blood has drained away from his brain. He should be the one to praise Donghyuck, laid on bed for him, so obedient and willing with a second finger up in his ass that Mark can just hate himself for not giving into this earlier.

“Do I?” Mark asks him.

Hearing his voice shows that he’s more affected than he thought. It’s hard to speak, so he opts for hovering over him and kissing Donghyuck’s hipbone. His mouth moves with the pace of Donghyuck’s hips as he rides Mark’s fingers, soft unintelligible pleas falling past his lips.

Contrary to what Mark expected, Donghyuck has little self-control. He clenches around his fingers to the point that Mark can’t go further sometimes, and he calms down a gasping Donghyuck to continue. Even then, Mark feels himself turn insane just by thinking about how Donghyuck will clench around his dick. Not even all of the lube of the world will help him stretch enough, not if Donghyuck is rushing him, and Mark is disposed to indulge his impatience for once.

When he pulls his fingers out, Donghyuck groans at the loss. He throws his head back, chest going up and down, and Mark takes that moment of distraction to catch him off guard. It works: Mark rubs the head of his cock over the rim of his ass, spreading the reminders of lube, and Donghyuck immediately lets out a surprise whine.

Mark doesn’t go further, though. He stares straight into Donghyuck’s eyes with a silent challenge, conscious that Donghyuck is in his most vulnerable point and Mark won’t be able to tease him again this way.

Donghyuck understands the game, but when he snaps his hips to slide onto his dick, he misses. Mark moans at the pressure of his dick over his rim, and he has to slam Donghyuck’s hips down on the bed to stop him.

“Lee,” he purrs, so much frustration in his voice that it startles Mark. “Do you like if I call you that?”

Mark fucking hates it. Donghyuck _knows_.

Biting into the emotional blackmail, Mark guides the head of his cock to Donghyuck’s ass. It’s just the head what he pushes in, but Donghyuck opens his mouth in a silent moan and grips at the sheets under him. Mark can tell why: the pressure around his dick is unbearable, and he’s not sure if it’s because he hasn’t fucked anyone in a long time or because Donghyuck hasn’t been fucked in a long while.

“You’re such a brat,” Mark tells him, placing his hands at his sides. He’s ready, he realizes, more than Donghyuck even. A simple movement and he’ll be inside of Donghyuck. “Good thing that I’m about to shut you up.”

They connect in unison. Donghyuck grabs at his chest in fascination, and Mark feels his tattoo move under his skin to follow Donghyuck’s touch. It makes Mark crazy, so crazily gone for him that he thrusts forward until Donghyuck is crying out a shaky moan beneath him.

The warmth that encircles his dick makes him stop midway, because it’s too much for him, and it’s definitely too much for Donghyuck. In that pause, Donghyuck’s moan becomes something else: breathy gasps as he adjusts around his length, his thighs shaking around Mark’s waist.

Mark gives him a second. Fuck, it turns him on to think that Donghyuck is so nervous that they can’t go on until he relaxes. Donghyuck cares, Donghyuck wants him.

“Hurts?” Mark whispers, leaving a peck on his jaw.

“Yes,” Donghyuck whispers. But his eyes aren’t red, unlike his cheeks, and he tenses his legs around him to bring him closer. “For fuck’s sake, go on.”

Mark doesn’t rush this time either, though Donghyuck becomes impatient with his carefulness. He wriggles under him, scratches his back and tries to bring Mark’s face down to drown his embarrassing moans with kisses, but Mark doesn’t let him. He wants to _hear_ him, hear the effect he can have on Donghyuck for once. When he pushes all the way in, he doesn’t stop to check Donghyuck’s state. He’s so loud that Mark can tell just by the noise, so he moves his hips back and thrusts forward again, harder, faster.

That breaks Donghyuck’s concept of pride in two, for he moans Mark’s name out loud and then bites on his shoulder to stop himself. Mark slams into him again and again, as deep as his dick lets him, Donghyuck’s whole body trembling with every thrust. It’s almost frustrating that he can’t go deeper, his balls pressed over Donghyuck’s ass, but he loves the sound Donghyuck makes when their bodies collide against each other.

He tries not to chase after his own pleasure too soon, even if it’s incredibly tempting; no matter how many times he imagined this, being inside Donghyuck feels even better than any fantasy. It could be his Veela charms, or it could be Mark’s feelings. Donghyuck is so, so warm, and Mark can’t get enough of his body. He presses against him, holds his thighs to manhandle him when he fucks him so hard that he’s swept over the bed, just to bring him back around his dick. Donghyuck is pliable. He lets Mark do whatever he wants to, either because he’s comfortable with it or because the feeling of being full doesn’t allow him to speak.

Donghyuck isn’t warm only inside. His whole body burns, the blush on his face stands out even on his tanned skin, and Mark can’t resist to lapping his tongue over his neck, over his lips or over his nipples. Donghyuck responds to every touch with both relief and desperation. His hands card through Mark’s hair, turn into pure pulling if Mark’s pace dares to slow down.

And Mark can’t slow down, anyhow. Despite his training, Donghyuck’s body isn’t excessively hard. His legs are full and soft, yet strong enough to push Mark farther inside him with every snap of his hips. His lips look for him when he bends down enough for Donghyuck to catch him, and Mark doesn’t feel the straining of his body, the tension in his waist as he slams forward, the pain in his arms, palms pressed on both sides of Donghyuck’s body; he could go on for hours, if Donghyuck wanted to, fully lost inside him.

But then Donghyuck mumbles something, something that Mark doesn’t understand, and his instinct warns Mark that they’re the most dangerous words Donghyuck could choose. When he licks into Donghyuck’s mouth and pushes his dick so hard that both of them release a groan of pain and pleasure, Donghyuck’s arms surround him, rest at his nape, and he musters the strength to repeat his words.

“Mark,” he sobs, nails sinking in the back of his neck. Mark looks straight into his eyes, into the most vulnerable version of Donghyuck, and hears him choke out, “I’m _yours_.”

Mark feels the world spin around him. He forgets where he is, what he’s doing, and can just feel Donghyuck around him, Donghyuck under him, Donghyuck’s pretty lips and his eyes and his smooth skin. He feels so drunk on him, so gone and at the same time so safe, that he wonders if he’s dreaming.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby,” Mark moans, pleased at the whine that Donghyuck accidentally emits upon praise. “And you’re mine.”

Donghyuck clenches around him, if on purpose or not, Mark doesn’t know. His dick pulses at the tightness, a tightness so unbearable that Mark can’t last anymore; Donghyuck throws his head back, mutters his name with his eyes closed, and comes all over his own stomach as he takes in Mark’s erratic thrusts. That’s the last straw for him. Donghyuck is a sin itself, but watching him come is the most erotic Mark has ever seen. The way he moans goes direct to Mark’s dick, and he looks so obscene, all of him bare and flushed for and because of Mark, that Mark has to grip at his own consciousness to stay with him. Mark fucks into his heat a dozen more times, every one of them prolonging Donghyuck’s orgasm, and comes with a broken groan.

He doesn’t pull in time, and by the time he tries, Donghyuck’s legs keep him in place with a strong tug. Mark collapses on top of him, unable to gather any strength after the effort, but Donghyuck doesn’t protest. He has his eyes closed, his legs slowly sliding from around Mark’s body as though he’s finally lost all his energy, and pants through his parted lips even when Mark pecks them.

Mark noses at the outline of his jaw, wanting to feel more of him, feeling utterly grateful for this and for Donghyuck in general. It’s only when his dick softens inside Donghyuck that he carefully slips out. Donghyuck has to hold onto him while he does, too oversensitive to deal with the feeling of tightening around nothing.

“Not so fast,” he complains, opening his eyes to glare at Mark. Mark is too tired to fight him, so he merely rolls on his side and lets Donghyuck throw himself over half of Mark’s body, looking for contact. “I can’t see.”

Mark observes him, the small confused frown on his face. He’s still seeing white spots in his vision, so he’s not surprised Donghyuck is too. “It’s called a real orgasm,” he jokes.

Donghyuck snuggles against him, bringing his knee up to Mark’s abdomen, and mocks him, “Very funny, Mark.”

Humming, Mark shoots back, “Didn’t make you _laugh,_ exactly.”

And Donghyuck doesn’t have a retort for that.

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/renjucas)   
[Curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/berryboys)   



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